


Baby Lips

by amourlouis (hxrrylxrrylxuis)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Angst for sure, Being Walked In On, Bottom Harry, But also, Character Death, Drama, Feminine Harry, Fluff, Harry gets worried sometimes, Harry is pregnant yay, Harry wears makeup, I may add some, Lots of it, Louis is scared of people, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Religious Guilt, Top Louis, i seriously hate tagging I'm done, implied at least - Freeform, it's not major but i still added it in case this triggers/bothers anyone, larry fluff, no smut at the moment, please see notes for more specific warnings!!, yeah that happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxrrylxrrylxuis/pseuds/amourlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a high-school type au where Harry wears makeup and skirts and likes to feel pretty. Louis is quiet and afraid of confrontation. Harry comes crashing into his life unexpectedly in a way that’s actually pretty weird, if they’re being honest, and they don’t mean to fall in love… but they do, and shit ensues. featuring confident, giggly Harry and lots of fluff. oh, and babies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. primer

**Author's Note:**

> first mpreg ever woohoo!! but i love pregnant harry and i love fetus larry and i LOVE kid fics so strap in kids!!  
> read it on wattpad [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/24232382-baby-lips-stylinson-mpreg)

_T_ eachers, Louis thinks, have to be the saddest people on the face of the planet. Why someone would want to spend their day working with adolescents that they hate only to have said adolescents hate the right back every day of their working lives until retirement is beyond him, but he's not one to question other people's lifestyle choices. 

Which is why he doesn't mind the pretty boy that sits next to him in chemistry anymore than he minds the way Pamela, who sits two seats ahead, has never heard of a belt and always shows the top of her knickers and the skin of her back off to everyone sat behind her. (That is a rather nasty habit, he has to admit. Someone ought to say something to poor Pamela.)

Teachers aren't all bad, Louis supposes, becauses he's sure a lot of them are just normal people looking to support their normal families and fulfill their normal wishes. Louis, being extraordinary himself, can relate.

Extraordinary. As in extra-ordinary. As in extremely ordinary. 

Boring.

"How was your weekend, class?" Horrible.

The usual monotone chorus of "Good." echoes throughout the classroom. The teacher seems to be satisfied as ever as he wipes the stray marks from the old dusty chalkboard in the front of the classroom with an eraser as ancient as the graying hair on his head. He coughs as he rubs his hands together, sliding a pair of spectacles up his pointy nose. Louis often wonders if he's ever considered getting work done to the thing, because it's sharp enough to pop a lung. Can lungs be popped? Louis' always imagined them as giant balloons of air taking up space in his chest. He pokes at his ribcage. There are gaps in it, but none of them are big enough for Louis to slide his finger through. A blessing in disguise, he supposes, because poking his own lungs instead of paying attention to the lecture sounds like a great way to fail midterms.

"Open your textbooks to page fifteen." Shit. 

 _What kind of bloody idiot comes to class without their textbook?_ Louis eyes the boy next to him as he leans down and grabs his own textbook from his stack of notebooks and folders. Louis tries not to let his gaze linger too long on the smooth looking skin of his long, lean legs or the plaid print on his skirt (it's cute, actually. Louis should be disturbed, but instead he finds himself fascinated by the way the fabric looks in contrast to this boy's complexion) for  _too_ too long. 

Apparently, it's long enough for Long Legs (which Louis had cleverly dubbed him as in the brief ten seconds he had spent ogling at his limbs like a sicko) to notice him. He blinks at Louis once, twice, three times - and then he speaks.

"Can I help you with something?" And Jesus, if that accent paired with such a beautiful, deep voice isn't music to Louis' ears. "Um.. what's your name again?"

"Louis," he provides, because he's been sitting next to Long Legs for about two months now and he realizes they've never gotten around to proper introductions. He sticks his hand out politely for Long Legs to shake. Long Legs stares hard at Louis' hand for a second before he looks back up and licks his way-too-pink-to-be-natural lips. Louis lets his hand fall and awkardly scratches the back of his head instead. "I - uh. Yours?"

"Can I help you with something?" he ignores Louis' question. Louis tries not to let himself become offended, but the rest of the class is already scribbling down notes and Louis isn't sure how much longer they can carry on this nice little chat before they both get caught. 

"Can I share your textbook with you? I. I forgot mine," Louis asks quietly. 

Long Legs seems to consider this for a second before he shrugs and places the textbook on their table gently. "No, I don't think I will."

Louis blanches. "Huh?"

"See, this is my textbook. It's always been my textbook, it's always going to be my textbook. See that?" He points to the empty space in front of Louis. "That's where your textbook should be. You forget your textbook, okay, whatever. No big deal. But if I lend you mine, this spot right here-" he moves his finger from in front of Louis to in front of his own space. "-will be empty. And that just opens a whole new can of worms.

"Worms?" Louis mutters. "I don't - look, mate, just let me borrow it for now? We can, uh, keep it in your spot I guess. No worms."

"That's not how it works."

"Why does there have to be an entire complicated system to it? Yes or no?" Louis snaps. Long Legs furrows his eyebrows. Louis kicks himself under the table. 

"No." And then he turns away.

 Louis shifts in his seat (Mr. Professor is staring him down from the front of the classroom) and pretends to be mad for a few seconds. He taps his pencil against the edge of the table and huffs as he busies himself with writing his name seven times on the corner of his paper. 

Finally, he breaks again.

"Please? Just let me borrow it?" 

"No."

"God damn it-"

"You know, you're not going to change my mind by cursing. Or by having a fit. You're going to get yourself in trouble," Long Legs tuts. Louis really hates him.

"Whose fault will that be?"

"Yours. You're the one who forgot their book in their locker." He shrugs. Louis sighs. He doesn't know what else to say to this boy slash girl slash unnaturally attractive human being person thing. Louis rubs his temples. It's only eight in the morning and he's already stressed and annoyed.

"But, you could do the right thing and help me out," Louis points out smoothly. Long Legs ignores him and taps the edge of his converse shoes against the leg of the table. Louis grinds his teeth together before he sets his jaw and slaps his hand down directly across the surface of the page the other boy had been reading from.

Long Leg's eyes flit up to Louis'. "I could. But what are you going to do for me in return?"

Louis has had just about enough of this. "Whatever you want."

The other boy seems to consider this for a moment before he sets his pencil down neatly on the table and slides the textbook closer to Louis - who sighs in relief - with a huff. "Fine. You owe me.. a kiss."

"A kiss?"

"On the lips." He pops them for emphasis before his tongue snakes out to lick over them teasingly; Louis gulps and turns his attention back to the text in hopes of hiding his flaming cheeks. Bloody hell, this boy is a character. "Deal?"

"I - I guess-"

"Boys!" the teacher snaps. "Or, boy and Harry, rather."

 _Harry. That's what his name is? He doesn't look like a Harry._ Louis stares over at his widened green eyes and perfectly arched brows - Jesus, he's too beautiful. Louis kind of feels like he's staring at the sun. 

"Back to work."

"Yes, sir," Louis coughs, because half the class is looking at them.

He shrinks down into his seat. 


	2. foundation

" _S_ o, where do you live?"

Louis' hand freezes on his combination dial. "That's.. sort of an intrusive question."

"Yeah, but," Harry, who's been following Louis around since the last bell, pushes some hair from his face. "Maybe we're close."

"I doubt that," Louis mutters, shoving his things onto the shelf in his locker; he glances at his textbook.  _If you had remembered it, none of this would of happened._ "I live.. sort of. Sort of far away."

"How far away?" Can't this boy take a hint? Louis shrugs his shoulders and begins to walk away. He hears the soles of Harry's shoes against the hard floor behind him. "Outside of town?"

Louis turns on him suddenly, whirling around with a hard glare and frown lines etched into the irate expression painted across his face. "Far enough. Can I help you with something?"

"No." Harry smacks his gum. Louis wants to smack  _him,_ but people are staring and his heads tremble where he wipes them against the rough fabric of his trousers. Harry's eyes are so green that Louis isn't sure if they're even real. They light up as Harry speaks again. "I just wanted to get to know the boy that I'm going to be kissing."

"Jesus," Louis breathes, "you were serious about that?"

Harry snorts. Louis is slightly intimidated by his confidence, if he's being honest; Harry bites the flesh of his pink lip. "Of course. Do I look like the kind of person that likes to mess around?"

"No." It's true. It is. Louis swallows a groan as Harry's hand reaches down to grab his own. "I just... you.. I'm not.."

"You're not?"

"I'm not.. Look, mate. I don't want to be rude, but, you're-"

"A boy?" Harry asks. There's no bite in his tone, but fear burns into Louis' soul as he blinks back at Harry's eagerness. Jesus Christ, he's wearing  _eyeliner,_ and Louis isn't sure if he can breathe at this point. His heart is pounding in his chest and all the eyes cast upon him have made it increasingly harder to think straight. Harry's hand is still tucked into his own, so he clutches it tightly and ducks into the nearest open room; the girl's lavatory.  _Fan-fucking-tastic._

Harry squints at him in confusion, Louis supposes, but Louis speaks again before Harry gets the chance to even open his mouth. "Listen. You need to stop following me around."

"Why?" Harry's eyes travel down Louis' face and stop at his trembling lips. "You poor thing, you're shaking."

"You need to leave me alone."

The Harry boy blinks at Louis a few times before he slides his hand out of Louis' grip. There's a brief moment of tense silence before he speaks again. "But why?"

"Because." Louis grits his teeth. "People.. are noticing."

"So what? Who cares if they notice? Do I weird you out.. um-"

"Louis."

"Right, yeah. Louis. Do I weird you out, Louis?" There's something about Harry that makes him inherently different from the other people in his school, Louis realizes, besides the fact that he looks like he's stepped off the cover of Vogue (Louis isn't even exaggerating, okay?) and that, well, he's wearing a skirt. The Harry boy, as strange as he may be, has successfully carried out a conversation with Louis. One that's lasted longer than twenty-seven seconds.  _Mark the day, goddammit._

"No." He doesn't, is the thing. Louis finds him to be more unique than anything else. He wants to touch some of Harry's curls, but then again, he really doesn't want Harry to touch him back. His breath is warm on his skin as he takes his lower lip between his thumb and his finger.  "You.. you're wearing girl's clothing, mate."

"Who said it had to be for girls?" Harry's smiling such a bright, beautiful grin. He has dimples,  _fuck, of course he has dimples,_ and Louis is most definitely not blushing. "Don't recall there being a law that said so."

"Well, no.."

"Great! So, moving along-"

"But there are certain unspoken rules of what's morally right and wrong.."

"Let me ask you a question, Louis." Harry Boy crowds Louis up against the wall, licking over his glossy lips. His breath smells like mint. Louis' eyes practically roll to the back of his head. "What's wrong with wanting to feel pretty?"

"Nothing.. nothing wrong with that."  _This situation has reached a whole new level of fucked up._ "Just.. don't the things people say and do to you bother you?"

Harry purses his lips before he steps back a bit, allowing Louis to breathe once again and also giving him time to notice that Harry has got a little braid in his hair tucked under his ear, hiding in the sea of brown, tangled curls. "Could ask you the same question, babe."  _Babe? Is he fucking mental?_

"No, I'm not," Harry responds, and Louis takes five seconds to realize that yes, he had just said that out loud, and no, there was no point in trying to take it back; he clears his throat instead. "I'm just.. not afraid to be myself. I've seen you around before, obviously," Harry stops to actually fucking flip some of his hair off his shoulder, Louis is growing weaker from embarrassment as the seconds go by, "and. You're like a ghost. Wasn't sure you could even talk, to be honest."

Louis swallows. "I don't want to kiss you."

Harry doesn't seem surprised. Instead, he goes back to smiling, which Louis eternally despises him for. "I know you don't."

"So why are you even bothering me?"

"Because you're different. I'm different. Let's be different together."

"Wouldn't that make us the same?"

"No. It would make us similar." Harry's smile widens.  "Similar and the same are two very different things, my friend."

"I'm not your friend," Louis snaps. He tries to calculate the fastest way to escape from the room, but he decides that it's not worth it to come stumbling out of a girl's lavatory running at the speed of a cheetah; being seen as such would be about fifty times worse than the situation he's currently in. "And I'm not going to kiss you just because you let me borrow your textbook."

Harry's smile never fucking falters for a second. "Oh, Louis. I think you'll find yourself changing your mind faster than you had made it up."

"I've not been kissed before, and I certainly don't want to waste my first one on you." Louis tries to sound confident when he speaks, he does, but it comes out shaky and hesitant and he wants to crawl into one of the toilets and die, if he's being honest.

"Ouch." Harry tilts his head. "I'm hurt, really, I am. That cut me into bits and pieces, Louis. How will I ever leave you alone now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've never been kissed," Harry states, rolling his eyes as if Louis should most definitely know this on his own, "and that needs to be changed. I fulfilled my end of the deal. Pay up, buttercup."

"Oh my fucking God." Louis is done. He is done with Harry Boy. "Move out of my way before I-"

"Before you what?" Louis freezes. Harry's confidence intimidates him more than he cares to admit. "Go on, Louis. Before you what?"

"Before I.. I.." he doesn't even know, fucking _hell_ , "I.. I scream."

"Scream?"

"Scream."

"Well, not sure if I'd mind you screaming my name, Louis. But given the circumstances, I suppose the odds might not be in my favor if I were to get caught." Harry's eyes say something mischevious. Louis wants to bolt. He hates this. He hates Harry. He hates everything. "You see, I don't exactly have the best reputation around here."

"I wonder why." Louis is proud of himself for coming this far, he truly is. He deserves a pat on the back and a star sticker, maybe. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Harry won't budge, though, and Louis is kind of fucking stuck.  "Please, Harry. Let me go." 

"Kiss me." Harry likes a challenge, Louis' figured this much out; however, the only way he can get around not being a challenge would be to give in to Harry's demands. It's a lose lose situation, honestly. 

"No."

"Kiss me, Louis."

" _No_."

"Fine. We'll stand here all day."

"Fine."

"And it's too bad for you, really. I just got this amazing new moisturizing lip balm-"

"Spare me the gory details, please. If you don't mind." Louis turns away from Harry, staring hard at one of the tiles on the ground. "I like girls, anyway."

Harry snorts. "No you don't."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Louis stiffens when Harry touches the collar of his shirt. "Get your hand off of me."

"Your skin is soft," Harry says instead, "and you don't fool me, Louis. I'm going to get you to kiss me. Eventually. Maybe not now, but eventually." And then, thank the fucking Lord, he leaves. Harry Boy struts out the door and Louis' chest heaves with a sigh of relief. He waits a few seconds before he walks out of the lavatory himself, blushing hot red when a passing student gives him a  _look._

He shuffles down the hallway in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these first few chapters are weird as fuck im so sorry


	3. concealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but i pinky promise that they increase in length as the story goes on

"I've been trying to figure you out." 

"Don't," Louis fiddles with the edge of his paper, folding and unfolding the edge to keep his fingers busy and give him an excuse to avoid Harry's eye. "Don't do that. That's... kind of weird."

"You're so _shy_ ," Harry says, and as if he needs further proof, he reaches his hand out just to see Louis shy away from it - the bastard - and blush apprehensively. "It's cute."

Louis huffs at this as if it's an insult - which, it kind of is, he is almost a grown man - and briefly wonders just how long he has to wait for this class to start. "I am not  _cute_."

"You're right."

Biting his lip, Louis nods slowly. He didn't expect Harry to be this easy to shoot down, especially given their past encounters, but he'll take it. "Thank you."

"You're absolutely adorable."

"Okay, please stop," Louis's mouth says, but his stomach is doing fucking cartwheels and he's sort of preening under the attention, if he's honest. He doesn't get very much of it to begin with, and when your secretly attractive sort-of creepy classmate who's been stalking you on and off for the past two weeks pays you a compliment, Louis knows well enough to accept it. But he can't get over the fact that Harry is sort of weird, and not even in a positive way - at least, he doesn't think so. Stranger things have happeed.

"But why? You get so flustered, and I-"

" _Stop_." Louis tries to growl, except, fuck; Louis doesn't growl. "You're making me uncomfortable, and I've had quite enough. So just, like, fuck off. Okay?  _Fuck off_."

Harry's gone through about three different stages of pale, and he's sort of gripping the table in this funny way that has Louis somewhat concerned that he's going to like, collapse, or some other over dramatic response like that. It wouldn't surprise him, as Harry seems to think the entire world is his stage. But, he smacks his lips together and gives Louis a good old once over that has him squirming in his seat. "I think that's the longest string of words I've ever heard you say."

"Well, congratulations. Now, shut up."

"Puppy's got a bite, does he?"

"I don't appreciate you talking down to me," Louis turns away from Harry. Harry has pretty hair, and it's not doing Louis any favors in his attempt to get Harry to close his trap and leave him alone. "And I'm not a puppy. I'm like, uh - a wolf."

"A wolf. You're telling me that you're a wolf." 

"Okay, I'm leaving-"

"No, wait," Harry says, suddenly very serious, and his hand flies out to grab Louis's wrist. His touch is gentle and his fingers are so delicate; Louis stares at it for a second. "Look, I'm sorry. I just like messing with you. Don't leave. I'll be all by myself if you leave."

Louis takes a brief moment to glare at everyone else in the classroom, because they're all oblivious to his current situation, scribbling things down in notebooks and chattering away about their weekends. He decides that everyone else should feel his discomfort, and makes a silent vow to come back and haunt Harry after he dies. This seems to be coming very quickly, because Louis is sure he can literally and legitimately die from embarrassment. He googled it once. 

"You need to stop being a prick and stop trying to feel me up, then." 

Harry scoffs and lets go of Louis's wrist as quickly as he had grabbed it. "Feel you up? What makes you think I want to touch you at all, let alone  _feel you up_? I don't know what kind of boy you think I am, but I am  _not_  trying to do that."

"You've got your hands all over me - just, Jesus, do you know what personal space is?"

"Yes-"

"There's a line that shouldn't be crossed, and you've done a running leap over it. And I'm not going to stand for it anymore. And I'm not going to kiss you. And I'm not going to be your friend or even talk to you, because you're weirding me out and I don't - I don't like it."

"I'm just being myself."

"Well, you're a bloody  _freak_ , then." Louis's chest heaves. Harry looks visibly hurt, and Louis sort of kind of really regrets his words. He assumes that it's hard for Harry to make any friends, and he then realizes with a heartbreaking amount of guilt that Harry probably doesn't even know  _how to make friends._

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was bothering you so much. Maybe I should be the one that's leaving."

"No, Harry, I didn't mean it-"

"No one wants to sit next to a freak."

Harry stands up, legs long and thin in his skin-tight jeans as he smooths his shirt down and begins to shuffle away to an empty seat. Louis, briefly panicked by this, wracks his brain quickly for something to say. "I - I." He's not very good under pressure, he realizes, and watches sadly as Harry moves to the back of the room to the only other empty seat. 

Louis turns to face the front again and, when the professor waddles into the room and begins the class, realizes that he's just as alone as Harry is, if not more so.

And he doesn't think he'd mind if Harry actually was feeling him up, is the thing.


	4. bronzer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the nice thing about posting stories that you already have like halfway done is that i can upload like 5 a day and have time to write more in the meantime anyway pleASe enjoy

"I'm sorry."

Harry peeks up at him through his unfairly long eyelashes, but he doesn't say a word in response. He eats another bite of his sandwich, a bit forcefully, before he sits back and folds his hands on the table. He looks at Louis expectantly.

"Can I help you?"

Louis shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, tray heavy in his hands, and coughs. "Um, I just wanted to apologize. For, y'know. Calling you what I did."

"It's okay."

"No, um, it's not." Louis looks away. Harry is silent for a few seconds, but he clears the area next to him and catches Louis's eye by clearing his throat.

"Sit," he says, and Louis does. He scrambles over and sinks down next to Harry somewhat gratefully, because finding a seat in the cafeteria is a struggle that Louis goes through almost every day. He usually ends up in the library. Harry's hand rests on Louis's shoulder, but he tries not to tense up. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I didn't mean to-"

"I know. I shouldn't have called you, um, I shouldn't have said you were a freak."

Harry blushes. "You're not the first one to have said that."

"I also know that, and that's why I feel so terrible. You're not a freak for... doing what you do, okay?" Louis finds himself relaxing into Harry's touch a little bit too quickly.

The other boy is quiet for a few moments, and just when Louis looks over to make sure he's actually listening, he speaks up. "Thank you."

He nods. "Yeah, no problem. Can I... stay here? Like, and eat."

"If you want." Harry seems just as surprised as Louis feels himself - he's not sure why he's even attempting to talk to someone like Harry, someone who he knows will draw an unnecessarily large amount of attention to himself - but he stays and eats his mushy blob of school-cooked meat quietly.

He's just moving on to attacking the moist green vegetable on the corner of his tray when Harry speaks again. "My name is Harry, by the way. Harry Styles."

Louis hesitates, but he decides to go along with it. "I'm Louis. Uh, Tomlinson."

"Tomlinson," Harry repeats. "It's very British, innit?"

"I suppose." Louis shrugs to himself. His eyes are still focused on his disgusting lunch, so he doesn't notice that Harry has moved closer until he can feel Harry's leg against his own and their elbows touching lightly. He briefly wonders what about him is so incredibly attractive to Harry.

"Why don't you have any friends?" Harry asks, bluntly and sort of loudly. Louis thinks the entire question - from his tone to his wording - sums Harry up pretty nicely.

Louis sighs, drops his fork, and turns to face Harry and his startlingly green eyes. "I do have friends. They just don't go to school here."

"What are their names?"

"Stan, Niall, Liam, and Zayn."

"Where do they go?"

"None of them live here in Donny - except for Stan - so I really don't know exactly which school they go to, but. I met them over the summer. They're great lads."

"Well, what about Stan?"

Harry asks a lot of questions. "He's a dropout." Louis continues to answer them, though, because he can't remember having a conversation this long in the past six months with anyone besides his mum. "Why don't  _you_ have any friends?"

"People think I'm weird," Harry replies, and he's smiling for some bizzare reason. Louis doesn't think being lonely is something to be happy about, but that's just him, after all. "So I'm my own best friend."

"Doesn't that get... sad?"

"Why would it?"

Louis shifts in his seat, lunch completely forgotten. "If you don't have anyone else, don't you get really lonely?"

"No. I don't need anyone else."

"Everyone needs someone," Louis argues, furrowing his brow.

"Not me."

He seems much too calm about the entire conversation. Louis huffs, and one of Harry's curls falls in his face. He really is quite wonderful to look at, really. "I think you're lying to me and to yourself then, Harry Styles."

" _I_ think that you don't know me at all, Louis Tomlinson."

Louis purses his lips. "So, if you don't need anyone, why did you even bother trying to get to know me? Why did you talk to me in the first place?"

"Because you're attractive and I want to kiss you," Harry says so nonchalantly that Louis almost falls out of his chair. He should be used to this by now. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is wrong with that, but the feeling is not mutual, mate."

"I understand. I'm not going to force you to kiss me," Harry's mouth says, but his eyes twinkle mischievously and Louis's stomach proceeds to be attacked by a swarm of angry butterflies.

"You don't even know what I'm like."

"So?"

"I could be a complete asshat," Louis says, and Harry snorts.

" _Are_ you a complete asshat?"

"Well-"

"Exactly." Harry holds out half of a very tempting chocolate chip cookie to Louis, waving it in front of his face, and Louis can't tell if he's offering it or showing it off. He looks at his own food in disgust. Harry's got a nice salad, crisps, and the other half of said cookie in front of him. Louis seriously considers asking his mum to buy more groceries, but he knows that's not an option and pushes the thought to the back of his head sadly. "Do you want it, or not?"

Louis no longer hesitates. "Yes, thank you." It tastes like heaven and sweet, temporary hell at the same time. He hasn't tasted anything homemade in what feels like centuries. Harry watches him eat, so Louis opts for using a napkin to get the chocolate off of his hands instead of licking it off. Proper table etiquette is always key, even in the corner of a school cafeteria.

It's quiet between them for a few minutes - minus the sound of Harry chewing and Louis stabbing his food to see how many holes he can make with his fork - and slowly, people stop laughing and talking and notice the pair of them together.

His brain is alert as ever, though his eyes are trained toward the floor. Harry doesn't seem to notice or mind the stares, because he doesn't move even an inch or say anything to Louis. It's becoming awkward, at least on Louis's end, and when he looks back up he immediately regrets him. People are  _staring at him._ He gulps.

"Do you play any instruments?" Harry randomly asks. Louis is semi-grateful for the distraction, but he also doesn't want people to see that they're  _conversing._ He pushes this fear away for Harry's sake. Just for a minute.

"Uh, a bit. The piano. Yeah."

"Really?" Harry's pretty, pretty eyes light up like a Christmas tree. "That's sick. I've always wanted to learn how to play an instrument."

"If you don't play anything, why did you ask?" Louis thinks it comes out sounding rude, but Harry doesn't seem to notice. His expression never falters or changes.

"I sing."

"You sing?" Harry doesn't seem like the singing type - actually, Louis changes his mind. He seems  _exactly_ like the singing type.

Harry nods much too enthusiastically for the quiet, tense atmosphere. "Yeah. I have a band." His grin is infectious. Louis finds a small smile of his own creeping up, especially when Harry gracefully knocks his water bottle over with his elbow. "Oops."

"What's your band called?" Louis asks.

"White Eskimo," Harry says without missing a beat, but he holds up a hand before Louis can say another word. "I didn't come up with the name, so don't ask what it means. I haven't the slightest clue."

"Well, that's really cool, Harry." Louis frowns to himself. He has no idea why every word he says sounds sarcastic. "Really! It is."

"You should come see us sometime. We rock."

Louis fights the urge to laugh. "You rock?"

"Hard." Harry winks at him stupidly, and this time Louis doesn't fight it - he laughs out loud, and he doesn't even worry. He doesn't even look at everyone else. He doesn't even regret it.

Harry lets out a giggle of his own. Louis is laughing into his hands like he's just discovered what laughter fucking  _is,_ and it feels good. After he's calm and a bit lightheaded, Harry's hand creeps toward his again. This time, he lets it happen.

"I've never seen you laugh before."

"School isn't usually a humorous place," Louis argues half-heartedly, because Harry's hand is holding his under the table and, okay, that's happening. "So, uh. Yeah."

"You should laugh more. It makes you live longer, I think." Harry blinks at him softly, delicately, like he's trying to gauge Louis's reaction without being obvious about it - he's failing royally, of course - so Louis swallows his sigh and forces his smile to linger on his face just a few seconds longer.

"I should already be dead, then." It sounds depressing and Louis begins to worry that he's given Harry the wrong idea, but Harry is either stupid, oblivious, or just extremely open-minded (possibly a combination of all three) because he just shakes his head.

"I'm glad that you're not," he says. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Louis breathes, because he is. He enjoys being alive, for the most part. He's got plenty of potential, hopefully. He's got something to live for, surely. 

His confidence has died down and his eyes sneak a peek over at the people sitting at other tables before he can control it, really. None of them are looking anymore. He's not sure if he should be relieved or even more terrified. The judgements they may have made, the conclusions, the whispers, the  _stares-_

"Louis? Are you okay?" Harry's voice snaps him out of his thoughts instantaneously. "Your hand- uh. It just tensed way up, and you sort of look really weird, to be honest."

"I'm fine," he mutters.

"Is it me?" Harry asks quietly. He goes to move away, and Louis's hand has never moved so quickly in his entire life.

"No. It's not you. I'm sorry, it's not you. You haven't done anything. We're having a nice chat, yeah? Don't leave."

It seems to be good enough for Harry, because he settles back down and grips Louis's hand with renewed confidence. Louis can melt into it if he doesn't think too hard.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are we holding hands right now?" Louis tries to ask this in the most nonchalant, accepting way he possibly can.

"Because. Friends hold hands sometimes, especially when one friend is upset."

Louis doesn't know which question to ask first. "You - you want to be my friend?"

"No. I already am your friend, tosser," Harry says, but immediately follows it up, "unless you don't want to be friends."

"We can be friends."

"Good."

"I'm not upset, I just. Yeah, it's not a big deal. Don't worry about it. It's not you," Louis repeats for the approximate four hundred and ninety eighth time. He bites his lip to keep the explanation from slipping out. The last thing he wants is to scare Harry away just as he's finding out that Harry is a lot less creepy than originally anticipated.

The bell rings annoyingly, and Harry grunts. Louis reconsiders believing in God, because his luck is at an all time high today. "Gotta get to class, then."

"Yeah. See you later?" Louis says, but Harry doesn't answer. He's already walking away. Louis watches him exit through the green double doors, and he spends the first half of the period staring at the place where Harry had sat.

"Friends," he repeats to himself, quietly, lowly, just to test the word out. It feels a bit foreign. "Friend. I have a friend. His name is Harry. I have a friend named Harry. He goes to my school. His name is Harry." He's very much aware that he's murmuring to himself like he's just gone mad, so he decides to leave before he ends up talking to himself even more.

He has a friend named Harry.

Things just got the tiniest bit more interesting.

 


	5. blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> appropriately titled

"So... what is it that friends do?" Louis asks. Harry's room smells like... Harry, unsurprisingly. A lovely mixture of green apples and hair products. Well, as lovely as such a combination can be. Harry's bed is comfortable and large, and Louis wonders briefly to himself how Harry can manage to get up out of it every day.

It's also obvious that Harry's parents are financially stable, to say the least.

"Well," Harry hums, slotting himself between Louis and a pile of fluffy green pillows, "I was thinking we could finish our school work."

"You do your school work?"

Harry's brow furrows. "Of course." His lower lip juts out when he glares. Louis thinks it's kind of adorable. He hides his smirk behind a cough.

"You just don't seem the type."

"Just because you think that I'm feminine-"

"No, Harry. Not every assumption I make about you has to do with your attire or physique."

Harry's glare dissipates into a sour pout. His attitude is vastly different from the room around him. Harry's bedroom is decorated all nicely with varying colors; blues and greens and yellows and beige, paintings on the walls, flowers in vases. Sparkly curtains cover the windows. A shiny guitar rests in one of the corners. At the foot of the bed, a soft and inviting looking sofa sits facing a television that likely costs more than Louis's entire wardrobe. A stack of magazines sits on the table by the bed. His closet doors are wide open, and Louis can clearly see each and every one of Harry's articles of clothing - all color coordinated, no less - between skirts and trousers and button-ups and blouses. It all screams Harry so loudly that Louis considers getting earplugs.

"Sorry, you're right," Harry huffs. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm just used to... well, you know."

Louis nods. He does know. "Yeah, well. I've been hangin' 'round you for a week or two, now; it's time you start trusting me."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself," Harry teases, but he smiles and nudges Louis's shoulder with his own in a way that makes Louis's heart flutter. Just a bit. "You haven't given me a solid reason to trust you."

Louis bats his eyelashes as best he can. "What about now?"

Harry bites his lip, "I- well, as tempting as your eyes are, I don't think that changes much."

"Bollocks," Louis says without any heat. He doesn't think they'll be doing their school work anytime soon. "Guess I'll have to pull out the ol'-"

"Don't pull anything out," Harry rushes, the left corner of his mouth twitching as Louis fights back a grin of his own. "My mum is downstairs."

Harry's mum is lovely. Louis really appreciates the fact that she doesn't drill him with questions, and he certainly appreciates the freshly baked goods that always seem to be lying around the kitchen. He's not sure what Harry's mum does for a living, exactly, but he's glad that she does it as he slips back and buries himself in Harry's mass of pillows. Everything is soft and warm and every one of his senses is lit up with Harry-ness. It's nice. It's comfortable.

Louis can't remember the last time another person made him feel comfortable.

"Y'know, I don't think this is very... progressive." Harry's voice sounds muffled and distant. Louis giggles into the pillows. He can feel fingertips gripping his ankles, so he curls his toes up and clenches his eyes shut. Harry's fingers are cold against his skin. "Louuu."

"That's what they call me," Louis mumbles into the fabric. Harry tugs him down the bed a bit, just enough to spark a reaction. Louis sits up and pushes his fringe from his face, a bit irritably, and smiles at Harry as innocently as he can. With a purse of his lips, Harry drops a large and uninviting textbook in front of him. A pencil is in his hand before he even has time to blink.

"Work. Get started."

Louis huffs. "You're not the boss of me."

"Just do it," Harry grunts, and when Louis leans back against his bedframe, legs crossed, Harry rests his head on Louis's knee. His hair tickles the bare skin there, because Louis has long since broken out his shorts in lieu of jeans due to the warmer weather. "I want it all done by... well, let's give it a good hour."

"And what if I'm not finished?"

"Then... I'll be upset."

Louis considers this. "Sorry, not good enough."

Harry makes a noise of discontent in the back of his throat, low and quiet, but he ignores Louis. The only sound in the room comes from the tip of his pencil scratching at the paper rapidly, and Louis gets so caught up in it that he forgets what his own priorities are. He dives into his English for approximately five minutes before he decides that enough is enough.

The book is closed quietly and set next to Louis on the bed without Harry noticing. Gently, Louis pinches a section of soft curl between his fingertips. Harry doesn't move or protest, and soon Louis has thrown caution to the wind - he cards his fingers through Harry's hair and twists it around his fingers. He braids little bits of it and pushes some in Harry's face. He's having an amazing time, actually, until Harry's hand comes up to rest on his own. Harry's palm is much larger than his, and it envelopes Louis's almost entirely. Louis gulps, sweat gathering on his hands, and Harry's fingers brush against his wrist.

"You're being a distraction," Harry scolds half-heartedly, releasing Louis's hand and going back to what he had been doing before. "When your grades drop, don't complain to me about it."

"I won't," Louis replies, a bit breathless; Harry's touch seems to electrocute him sometimes. He's not sure why, is the thing, and he's not sure if he wants to figure it out just yet. He shudders a bit at the thought. The last thing he needs is something more to set him apart from everyone else. "Don't care that much about them anyway, to be honest."

Harry hums a little tune to himself in response, alternating from the highest of high notes to the lowest Louis thinks humanly possible. He lets his eyes lock on the way Harry forms letters and numbers and even the periods at the end of his sentences. Harry's fingers and arms flex as he writes, flips pages, erases; he's like a work of art, beautiful while portraying the simplest of things. Louis pushes such thoughts out of his brain, however, because Harry is his friend and even daring to think otherwise was definitely out of the question. For Louis, of course.

 

When Harry is done, however, he turns to Louis and gives him a little smile and a wink that has heat rushing to Louis's cheeks faster than ever before. When Harry kisses him on the nose, it's just this close to being too much.

Louis can handle it, though.

He can handle this - this real Harry. The Harry that scolds him like a mother, treats him like a doll, lets him muck up his perfectly organized - well, everything - and play with his precious hair. He can handle their mindless babble and the quiet conversations, just the two of them. He can handle the way they've taken to sharing lunches, because Harry's mother always packs too much and Louis's school-bought lunch always tastes terrible enough to make even the hungriest of men cry. He can handle the nose kisses. He can handle the blushing. He can handle the ankle grabs, the wrist brushing, the fingers bumping. He can handle it. He can handle it.

He has, after all, always wanted a real friend. He finds it difficult to open up to Harry, though; he expects that will come with time. Or he hopes, rather.

"You alive?" Harry snaps his fingers together directly in front of Louis's face. Louis blinks a few times, realizing rather sheepishly that he had let his mind wander, and apologizes, meekly, under his breath. "Oh, it's alright. You're pretty when your cheeks are pink."

"Thanks."


	6. eyeshadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for the shortness (if that's a word) of these bits - the first few chapters are so boring to write, especially when it's larry and you just want to smash their faces together right away immediately.  
> but apparently that's not 'realistic'.

"Give it to me!"

"No! It's not- I need it right now!"

"I need to call Megan! We have an assignment due tomorrow and we haven't even begun to-"

"Not my problem!" Louis singsongs, standing on his tip toes to hold the phone up higher. "You shouldn't put things off for so long. Maybe you'll learn from this."

"Are you thick?" Lottie shrieks, "I'm going to get a bad mark! Is whatever you need to do  _that_ important?"

"As a matter of fact,  _yes_."

Lottie huffs, crosses her arms over her chest, and puts her angriest, dirtiest glare on display. Louis clutches the phone to his own chest. When she sees that her current demeanor is doing nothing to change Louis's mind, she visibly deflates. "Just... give it to me when you're done."

"Will do," Louis mutters, watching as Lottie wanders into the bedroom she shares with Félicité. He bites his lip, feeling a bit guilty, but retreats to his own room anyway.

Once the door i closed, he flops down onto his bed, eagerly dialing the number.

Harry's number, of course.

He answers on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Hi," Louis squeaks, "I, uhm. I just wanted to know... ."

"Yeah?" Louis hears some rustling on the other end. He imagines that Harry is sitting up in his own bed, mobile pressed to his ear (how Louis wishes he had a mobile), and is brushing papers from the duvet. He's constantly got papers everywhere. Drawings, writing, schoolwork; the list is endless. He also quickly realizes that Harry is waiting for him to elaborate.

"Oh! Uh, was wondering... well, wondering what you're doing." He bites his lip again. Did that sound too weird? Too pushy? Too clingy? Too-

"Just doing a bit of doodling," Harry hums. Louis wonders what Harry's face looks like right now. He decides he needs to see it. "Why do you ask?"

"I want you to come over," Louis says, surprising both Harry and himself with his boldness. "Like, right now."

Harry is quiet for a moment - considering the request, Louis hopes.

"Is your mum home?"

Louis blinks. "Uh, no."

"What kind of boy do you think I am, Tomlinson?" Harry giggles. It takes Louis a moment to process this, and when he does, his cheeks immediately burn.

"My sisters! My sisters are home," he splutters, fighting to make his voice heard over the sound of Harry's laugher. He covers his face shyly, hough Harry can't even see it, and muffles his groan into the palm of his hand.

"I'm kidding, Lou. I know you don't swing that way," Harry teases. Louis bites back his retaliation, but only because Harry's talking again. "It's six something... I can be there in ten. What's your address?"

_Shit._  "Uh... it might take you a little more than ten minutes, right?"

"No way. This town is tiny. You  _do_  live in town, right? No weird, windy country roads for me to take?" Harry sounds so nonchalant, but Louis is fucking  _panicking_.

"Yeah, I live in town," Louis stutters, shakily forcing out his address a few moments later when Harry presses the matter once more. Harry hands up with a promise to be there as soon as possible, which is the exact opposite of what Louis needs, but.

"Lottie!" he hollers, bounding down the wooden stairs and into the kitchen. "I need you to help me tidy up. Quickly."

Lottie isn't downstairs, but Fizzy is. She gives him a signature Annoyed Little Sister look.

"Why?" she drawls, sounding a bit sleepy. Being a child, Louis supposes, is hard work.

"I... I have a friend coming over."

"Who?"

"A boy. You don't know him."

"A boy?" Lottie appears suddenly in the doorway; Louis scoffs at her a bit suspiciously. "Is he cute? What's his name?"

"You're eleven, Charlotte," Louis sighs, throwing things in closets and under the couch and chairs. Lottie is already scrubbing at some dishes, babbling to Louis about _age being just a number_ and putting her  _Tomlinson charm that Mum always talks about_  to good use.

"Where're Daisy and Phoebe?" Louis asks, interrupting Lottie completely - he's only got approximately three minutes left, sue him - as he brushes food crumbs from the surface of their furniture.

"They're with Daddy today and tomorrow," Fizzy provides. Louis sighs a heavy, relieved breath. The main floor of their home looks decent, at least. He sinks into the comfortable cushions of the couch, patting his stomach gently- and then he realizes.

"I'm wearing Mum's jumper!" he wails, dashing up the steps quickly and desperately bursting into his bedroom. "Oh, God!"

"So what?" Lottie calls. Louis doesn't reply, too distracted by the piles of dirty clothes decorating his room. He digs through, and he all but screams when the doorbell rings.

" _Don't answer it!_ " Louis shouts, throwing the jumper off before, as a last resort, he bolts down the stairs with nothing but his pajama pants and slippers on. He takes a few deep, steadying breaths before he slowly opens the door.

Immediately, Harry's eyes fall to Louis's bare chest. "Oh?"

"I was hot," Louis blurts, feeling a bit flushed and nervous and - why did he think this was a good idea, anyway?

"I can see that."

"Yeah." They awkwardly shuffle their feet. Louis glares at his tummy, and  _then_ , much to his despair, Lottie rounds the corner.

"Louis! Who is it? Is he - oh, my God." Louis wants to fall in a ditch. Possibly take Lottie with him. "He's... is that a  _skirt_?"

"Yeah. Do you like it?" Harry smirks, fingers playing with the fabric. Louis gulps, already feeling panicky.

"But... you're a  _boy_."

"Lottie," Louis warns.

"No, Boo, it's okay." Harry presses a hand to Louis's chest lightly, gently pushing him over a bit. He steps inside, closing the door behind him. Leave it to Harry to invite himself in. "What's your name, love?"

"Charlotte," Lottie replies, uncharacteristically reserved and shy. Her voice is soft, eyes wide, hands folded behind her back - she actually seems like  _Louis's sister_  for once. It's amazing. Louis considers taking a picture.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." She blushes.

"Jesus  _Christ_ , Harry, she's  _eleven_ ," Louis mutters hotly, "paws off."

"I'm not trying to  _flirt_ with her!" he scoffs in response, poking Louis in the tummy. He flinches away with a swat to Harry's hand and a heated glare. Lottie giggles a bit, and she races up to her room when Louis turns to scowl at her instead. "She's cute. Got pretty eyes, just like you. It must be a family thing"

"Shut up." Yet, when Harry offers one of his - slightly unnaturally - large hands, Louis takes it and unceremoniously drags him into the living room. "It's not... much, but it's home."

"Smells good," Harry comments, making himself comfortable on the sofa. Louis loiters awkwardly, staring at the empty space between Harry and the arm of the sofa. "Well, don't just  _stand there_ , you twit. It's your house!"

Louis settles in reluctantly, squeezing himself in the small space he wants (despite all the empty room on the  _other_  side of Harry; technicalities), and Harry's arm comes to wrap around his shoulders. He feels warm and comfortable and... nice.

"Where's your mum, then?" Harry asks softly once Louis is settled. Louis tenses up almost instantly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I won't force it out."

"No... it's okay." Louis shifts, nonchalantly moving closer to Harry and his low, soothing voice, his soft clothes, his smooth skin - he can't help it. Harry is actually pretty damn irresistible now that Louis has gotten to know him a bit. Yeah, that's it - it's  _Harry_ , not Louis. "She's... at work. Or with her boyfriend. Maybe at a bar. I don't really now. She rarely comes home."

Harry's brow furrows. "Why is that?"

"After my dad left, and after their dad divorced her," Louis gestures toward the staircase Lottie had went up, "she went a little. Uh. MIA? Took on a second job to support the six of us, and now there's this  _other_  bloke in her life. He stops by sometimes, usually when Mum is actually here. Sometimes, on the weekend, all of us go out and do something. See a film. Get some ice cream. Not often, though. We haven't got much extra money to spend." Harry is drawing little circles on Louis's shoulder with his fingertips as he talks. Louis looks to him a little sheepishly, waiting for the judgement, the questions - nothing comes. Harry's face looks as cool and open as it did when he first sat down. "So, it's usually just me and the irls. Which is why the place is kind of a dump." He laughs humorlessly, hiding his pink face against Harry's side. The circles are still going. "We tidied up just now. For you. The guest of honor."

"Thank you," Harry says, voice surprisingly full of sincerity, "you didn't have to."

"'Wanted to." He lets his hand rest on Harry's thigh. "You're something special."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Haven't had a real friend in... a long time. Not since we moved here a couple of years ago, actually."

"Where did you live before?"

"Doncaster." Their hands bump together when Harry uses his free one to adjust his shirt. Louis's breath hitches, but he tries to play it off as a cough. "Uh... yeah."

"Lou? No offense, I love listening to you talk, but... why did you invite me over?" Harry asks quietly, after they've allowed themselves to rest in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Louis ponders over this for a beat, even though he already know the answer. He doesn't want to come off as clingy or weird, so he waits and furrows his brow and purses his lips and does all the other things he imagines people who were thinking would do.

"I dunno. Sometimes it's nice to have someone else around, y'know?"

Harry nods, looking satisfied, and even a bit pleased. Louis's chest does a weird flippy-fill-with-warmth-and-butterflies thing. He clears his throat. "So, tell me about you."

"You already know loads about me."

"Tell me the stuff I  _don't_  know, silly."

Harry purses his lips, mocking Louis's 'thinking' face half-heartedly. "Mum owns a bakery. My dad and mum've been divorced since I was little, but he sends checks when we need it. Which is rare. The bakery's doing so well, Lou, it's really incredible. She puts so much work and soul into it. It makes me proud. And she always tells me to do what I want, to not be afraid of what other people are gonna say."

"Sounds like you're close," Louis muses. Harry's fingers play with his carefully, like he's watching to make sure Louis is okay with it.

"We are. I've got a sister as well. Her name is Gemma; you might have seen her around school without realizing it who it was. Anyway. Uhm, it's just the three of us. I want to get a pet, but Gemma is allergic to like, everything, so. That's sort of out of the question."

"We used to have a cat," Louis gasps, and Harry smiles down at him a bit. He shivers under his gaze. "Her name was. Uh. I think it was Fluffy."

"Fluffy," Harry repeats, testing it out, "good choice."

Louis pokes him in the side teasingly, "I didn't choose it. Lottie did."

"Uh-huh."

And that's how they spend their night, really. They talk and they talk until Louis's tongue is a dry piece of sandpaper and both Fizzy and Lottie have given him goodnight kisses to the cheek. They talk about the world and about their lives and school and politics and this and that and the neighbors; soon, it's eleven at night and they're still talking, but Louis has taken to resting his head on Harry's chest. Only because it's warm and the closest thing, mind you, and his eyes are slipping shut. Harry's chest rumbles a bit when he talks, which only lulls Louis's already tired brain further to sleep.

"Louis?" Harry whispers, shrugging his shoulder to rouse him. "Lou."

"Mmf," Louis responds helpfully, fingers clutching the fabric of Harry's shirt tighter. "'arry, 'm goo', keep talkin'."

"You're drooling."

It's like a switch flips inside his head, because Louis immediately sits up straight and looks at Harry with bewilderment and complete mortification painted across his face. " _Shit_ , I am so sorry."

Harry cackles. His face looks so pretty when he laughs. His eyes get all shiny and his dimples pop out in the most fascinating of ways. Louis thinks he could probably watch it all day without getting bored. Wait, what?

"Hey, don't worry. 's alright, love. Let's get you to bed, yeah?" Harry stands up, offers his hand to Louis expectantly, and Louis is about to take it before he stops himself.

"Wait." He stands up on his own. "This is my house. I'm the one who should be leading you up the steps. Don't want you stumbling into the bathroom, or something." He begins to walk toward the staircase, but he quickly realizes Harry isn't following him. "Coming?"

"Y-you want me to... stay the night?" Harry asks dumbly, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Yes, you idiot." Louis puts his foot on the first step, tilting his head toward the top floor. "Let's  _go_ , I'm bloody  _tired_  and we've got school tomorrow."

"But m-"

"You'll sort it out tomorrow, won't you?" Louis asks, staring at Harry. Harry shakes his head, looking a little disorientated.

"Where did all this confidence come from?" he huffs, but he follows Louis up the stairs anyway.

Louis smiles a little to himself. "It was always here."

************

He ends up curling around Harry sometime in the middle of the night. Louis deliberately denies it the next morning - after the girls have caught the bus and the two of them take Harry's car to school - telling Harry that he's _always_ been a very active sleeper, he  _always_  moves around in the night.

Harry might tell you a different story if you asked


	7. eyeliner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this may or not be based off of some fantasies that i have about first kisses. may.

Louis likes Harry.

It's not a big deal, okay, he just  _likes_ Harry and he'd really appreciate it if it wasn't discussed any further or brought up ever again, thank you.

Louis has never dated anyone before, and the last time he had a crush on someone was years and years ago, so he decides to shove the entire  _sexuality_ thing into an unkempt crevice of his mind. He'll address that issue someday, he thinks, but right now he knows he wants to kiss Harry on the mouth and he thinks that's just the way it is, really.

Harry has been his friend for about two months now, he thinks, and he isn't really sure when he started to like him.

It's not always been this way, Louis knows, because Harry is extremely extroverted, so he's got this habit of having his hands everywhere letting his voice ring loud and clear, echoing through Louis's head on an endless loop.

So, it's a bit unexpected when he gets a zing of excitement when Harry shows up at his house one day, and Louis swears he didn't  _always_ get butterflies when Harry would casually grab his hand or mess with his fringe. Louis didn't  _always_  feel nervous when Harry looked at him. He didn't  _always_ blush from his cheeks all the way down to his toes when Harry gave him a compliment, brushed against him, curled up next to him on the sofa, shared food with him at lunch - it just sort of happened.

He's not sure if he's happy or angry with himself for feeling this way, because Harry is quite literally his only friend. Messing up their budding relationship with a crush is the last thing he wants to do. At times, he feels as if the feeling is mutual. Sometimes Harry kisses his nose or his cheek or brings him sweets from the bakery and he just  _swoons_  so hard that he's afraid he might actually fall over, and sometimes he wonders if Harry does that to everyone. Sometimes Harry brings his mum little gifts and kisses her cheek, and Harry is certainly not in love with his mum, so.

But, on a cold Tuesday night with Harry's head on his lap, cup of tea in his hand - made by Harry, of course - Louis looks down and Harry's already  _looking at him_  and he just.

He knows.

He knows that he likes him, and he knows this is a problem, but he can't stop it, he doesn't want to stop it. He doesn't want Harry to stop being all over all the time everywhere, because Harry is great. He's loud and giggly and not afraid to speak his mind, which Louis secretly envies, but he's also got a quiet and a more reserved side. Louis gets to see it sometimes, if he's lucky, especially at night. He never confronts Harry about it, because he'd rather not embarrass him and scare him into silence, but when Harry curls into his side and presses his nose to his neck, or when Harry hides his face in his hands, or when Harry admits something personal after it's too dark to see and they're tucked under layers of blankets on Louis's bed, Louis wants to hold him. He wants to protect him, keep him safe, kiss his forehead - he wants. He wants, he wants, he wants, but he will never say a word.

Despite how much he  _wants_ , he wants to keep their friendship intact more.

____________

 

Harry is supposed to be the focused one, but he's being  _way_  too much of a distraction and Louis considers filing a complaint.

It's not that Harry is purposely preventing Louis from finishing his homework, but he's making it extremely hard not to stare at him, so Louis holds him equally responsible. He's wearing a fucking _scarf_  in his hair, what the _fuck_ , and he's got mascara on. Well, Louis thinks so, at least. He doesn't really know anything about makeup, but he does know that Harry's lips are  _not_  that pink naturally and he wants to cry a little, honestly, especially when Harry decided to wear one of Louis's jumpers because he  _got cold, Louis, it's bloody freezing in here_. The jumper is a little too short on Harry, and the sleeves don't quite reach his wrists, but he's probably making it smell very Harry-ish and Louis is so, so smitten that he could scream.

 

"And so, if you carry the four, you can see that-"

"Hey, Harry," Louis interrupts - he wasn't paying much attention to begin with, honestly - and tucks his pencil behind his ear, "I'm kind of hungry. Do you want anything while I'm out?"

"Out?" Harry furrows his brow. "Why are you leaving?"

"Well, we need to get groceries soon," Louis begins, but he immediately corrects himself, " _I_  need to get groceries soon. So it'll just be more efficient if I go get the girls and I something to eat now rather than snack when I know we'll need to eat in an hour or so, yeah?"

"I can cook. We can cook together!"

"Harry, no." Louis shakes his head firmly, because he knows himself. He also knows Harry. He also knows Lottie. It's practically bound to end up with something burnt, someone crying, and someone bleeding.

Harry pouts. Louis forces himself to look away, because he knows allowing Harry to attempt to teach him to cook is a terrible, terrible idea.

"Just this once?" he pleads, and when Louis shakes his head again he shoves his books from his lap and crawls over, settling into Louis's lap. He leans down so that Louis is forced to look at him, and when Louis tries to advert his eyes again, Harry follows Louis's gaze with his head. Everywhere he turns there's an upset kitten in his face, so, he thinks he has a good enough excuse for breaking.

"You will be the death of me, Harry Styles," Louis groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "Absolute menace, you are."

Harry's hands rest on Louis's thighs. It's completely normal for friends to straddle each other, right? "I think you'll forgive me when you taste-"

"I can't cook to save my life," Louis cuts him off, because he already knows that even Harry, who reminds Louis frequently that  _he is a baker_ , can do nothing to help him. He's a lost cause. There's a reason the Tomlinson's live off of takeout, after all.

Harry glares at him, but he's so _cute_. Louis can't, he can't think. He's overwhelmed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, yeah."

"Hazza," he croons in the best, most convincing sad voice that he can muster, "I'm sorry, love. Maybe some other time, but it's not worth it. We've got to finish this and you've got to get home. Your mum will skin me if you start to spend too many nights here."

"Oh, please. She's thrilled that I've got someone to hang out with now. To be honest, I think she was getting sick of me," Harry whispers, but he finishes it with a giggle and Louis seriously needs him to stop before he dies, but.

"Well. Still."

"I really like spending time with you, Lou."

"I- I-" Louis can't speak - Harry is  _so close_. His breath is cool, somehow, and it's not the only thing that ends chills down Louis's spine. "I. You're beautiful."

"Oh... thank you?"

"And... ." This is a terrible, terrible, terrible idea. Even worse than Harry's idea. Louis deserves a fucking award for how horrible this idea is, he thinks, but he's so lost in Harry's eyes and it feels right doing it, so. Fuck it.

"And?"

"And I owe you that kiss, don't I?" Their noses bump together lightly - Harry is getting closer, or maybe Louis is. He's not sure. But Harry isn't backing away. His breath does hitch a little, but then he breathes, "Suppose you do," and then they're kissing.

It's warm and wet and a bit uncomfortable, because Harry is a little bit taller, but it's perfect. Harry's lips are soft and they taste like strawberries, _God_ , and Harry shifts his hips just so - it's torture. Louis's hands go to rest on Harry's bum, and Harry's fingers in his hair, and maybe they're moving too fast but Louis doesn't care. They have to separate for a moment to catch their breath, and when Harry lazily rubs their noses together again, Louis laughs. "What're you doin'?"

"Eskimo kisses." Harry grins, and Louis can't help it - he pecks one of his dimples, watching the way Harry's cheeks pinken. "Duh."

"You're so stupid," Louis giggles, and he feels like a  _proper_  teenager; bright eyed, drunk on the feeling of someone else liking him back. "Kiss me again."

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't quite make it there. Another voice interrupts him, clearing their throat, and Louis freezes. Both Louis and Harry's eyes widen, a bit comically, and  _shit_.

"Who's this, then?"

"Mum," Louis breathes, dropping his hands to his sides in an attempt to act casual. "Uhm..."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. M'names Harry," he says much too casually, as if he had just run into Louis's mum on the street. He doesn't even bother to climb off Louis's lap. Louis's mum doesn't respond. She looks tired, coat hanging off her shoulders, bag on the floor, but her expression is hard. Louis wants to hide behind Harry.

"Louis? Kitchen, please."

Louis gulps. "Yeah... okay. Harry, uh."

"Right." Harry scoots off his lap, and Louis is able to stand (a bit shakily) and follow his mother into the kitchen. He glances apologetically at Harry over his shoulder, but he gets a cool smile in response. He wonders how Harry manages to be so calm when Louis feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. Literally.

Once in the kitchen, Louis's mum turns to face him. She barely has her mouth open when Louis bursts into a fit of hysteria.

"I know what you're thinking, but hear me out. I don't - I really like Harry. Maybe he's a little different and maybe you don't like that, but I don't care. That's that was-" he blubbers, and Jay interrupts him by enveloping him in a tight, sudden hug.

"Oh, baby," she sniffs. Louis's face contorts in confusion, but he lets her practically squeeze the life out of him. "My little baby."

"Mum, are you... crying?" he asks incredulously, patting his mother on the back.

"My baby is _in love_ and I've  _missed_  it," she moans. Louis's eyes widen.

"Oh, no. God, Mum - I'm not in love. We're just... how much did you see?"

"Enough." Jay pulls away, rubbing at her eyes. Louis feels a bit embarrassed by her emotional response, but it warms his heart at the same time. She  _cares._  "The front door was unlocked, so I just walked in."

"That was actually... our first kiss," Louis admits, " _my_ first kiss."

"Oh, Louis." Her lower lip wobbles. Louis laughs a bit, but it sounds weird and nervous. Louis always sounds weird and nervous, he thinks.

"Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"The fact that he's... well. A  _he._ "

She smiles, still teary-eyed, and cards her fingers through Louis's hair. "Of course not, baby. Does he make you happy?"

Louis blushes, choosing to stare at his feet in order t o avoid eye contact. "Yeah. Yeah, Mum, he does."

"And you respect each other?"

"I - yeah."

"She pats him on the back, touch soothing in a way only a mother can manage, and he gets a kiss to the cheek. "That's all that matters to me."

Louis, who finds himself overcome with emotion suddenly, pulls his mother in for another hug. He sniffles into her hair, which smells like home, and holds her with every ounce of strength he's got in him. "I miss you, Mummy."

"I mis you, too."

"Please stay," he pleads, voice cracking a bit in the middle of the sentence. He winces. "I need you. The girls need you."

"You also need food," she says as she pulls away, hand still on Louis's back, "and clothes. And books. A place to sleep."

"I can get a job," Louis offers, a bit desperate at this point. They've had this conversation a million times before. It always ends the same way, but Louis tries. He's not a quitter. He's  _not_ a quitter.

"I need you at home," she sighs.

"But-"

"Your sisters need you to watch after them, Louis."

"They also need you," he argues. His mum shakes her head.

"Mum."

"Louis, no. We're not having this discussion right now. I've got to get back soon, but I was hoping I could take a shower first."

She's about to leave, but Louis stops her with a sigh.

Louis wants to scream in frustration almost as much as he wants to cry when Harry comes wandering into the kitchen, successfully distracting his mother, hands folded behind his back.

"I, um. My mum called. I have to get home, Gems is sick and she needs someone to look after her while Mum is closing up." Louis's heart sinks. He really wanted Harry to stay a little longer. He really wanted to discuss their feelings, but between his own mother and Harry's, he supposes tonight isn't the night.

"Okay," Louis mumbles, and he turns away from Harry shyly. It's quiet for a few moments, and then he feels arms wrapping around him slowly. It's Harry, of course, and Louis melts into him like he's done it a million times before. They hug and it feels right in his chest, it feels right when Harry kisses his cheek and his nose and then his lips, as if this is a normal routine for them, and it feels right when Harry gives his mum a respectful smile and a wave.

 

The only thing that doesn't feel right is the sound the door makes when it closes behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is harryandlouistbfh; come find me :))


	8. mascara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at the time i wrote this i had to use my phone and i ended up getting tired of typing like that so the next chapter is pretty much a continuation of this one

Louis wishes he knew how to tie a tie.

Doing so, he thinks, should be common knowledge - well, if that's a thing - but he's never been presented with a tie-worthy occasion until now, in front of his bathroom mirror, and he's kind of panicking.

 _"Wear something nice,"_ Harry had said.  _"We're going somewhere... well, I think you'll like it."_

_"Nowhere super expensive, please."_

_"Hush. You know money isn't an issue. It's our first_ proper _date, Lou. I want it to be special."_

So, needless to say, Louis plans on ordering the least expensive thing he possibly can. If he can tie his tie.

He huffs, thoroughly frustrated, and tugs at the fabric around his neck. "Jesus Christ."

"You look weird," comes a voice from the doorway. Louis scowls at his reflection. If he had a pound for every time one of his sisters barged into his room, they'd _all_  be rich. He shoos Lottie, the intruder, out of his room with a stern warning and a sigh. His mother should be home by now. She _promised_  she would be home to watch the girls. Taking four children on his Very First Date Ever is a less than desireable set of circumstances. As if on cue, the front door opens and two shouts of glee echo through the house.  _Thank God._ Usually, when he visits Harry instead of the other way around, Louis leaves the girls under the watchful eye of his neighbor, Mrs. Llyod. Mrs. Lloyd has a son, but _he moved out last year_  or something - Louis doesn't know. Mrs. Lloyd blubbers about him a lot, but Louis usually tunes her out with a forced smile and a nod of the head. Polite, sweet, and reserved. They get on well enough. Asking Mrs. Lloyd to watch all four of his sisters from seven to - well, God knows when, Louis doesn't have a curfew - seemed out of the question, and rightfully so.

There's a knock on hi doorframe, effectively snapping him out of his  _time consuming_  thoughts. He whirls around, grasping his tie protectively. It's only his mum, of course, not a psychopath-murderer. Admittedly, Louis knows a tie isn't the best option for defending one's self.  _Technicalities,_  Louis scoffs to himself,  _and nothing more._

"My ba-"

"Mum, please." He tugs at his fringe, sheepish and flushed. "You're embarrassing me."

She places her hand on her chest. "I'm sorry, lovey, you know how I get."

"I know." Louis needs to stop staring at himself.  _But what if Harry turns up looking like a Gucci model?_  Louis scowls once again, irritated by his own appearance as he simultaneously realizes that Harry  _always_ looks like a Gucci model. Fuck. He's overthinking it, he knows, but it's hard to remain calm given the circumstances.

"When will you be home?"

"Dunno," Louis replies, a bit mindlessly at that; he's taken to sorting through his socks, trying to find a pair that corresponds with his outfit. He's wearing a  _sea blue_  button down, according to Daisy, (which he hopes looks alright in comparison to his eyes) along with the nicest black trousers he could find. His tie is black as well, and he's certain he'd look positively _dashing_  if his tie wasn't a Hopeless Case and if his cheeks weren't the color of a ripe tomato. Well, positively dashing compared to what he usually looks like. "Knowing Harry, he'll fly us to Peru and we'll wine and dine, skin bathed in the moonlight; some poetic shit like that. He's classy, Mum."

"Don't swear. You haven't got a passport either," Jay tuts, sounding genuinely concerned. Louis gives her a look. "Oh, alright. Never mind."

Harry is due any moment now, Louis realizes with a pang. He sits on the edge of his bed, feeling a bit woozy, and motions for Jay to join him. She does shuffling over and patting Louis's thigh. "You'll have fun."

"I'm a bit worried someone from school may see us," Louis admits, a little ashamed of himself and hi tone. It's not Harry himself that he's worried about, but... people. He doesn't want the other people or their whispers or their stares. He  _wants_ to go out with the boy he like and enjoy himself. "And then they'll say things."

"What sorts of things?"

Louis looks at her. "The kinds of things they said... before."

"Darling, we don't live there anymore. You're all older now, more mature. I'm sure no one will say a thing."

"We're still kids, Mum. Kids will be cruel."

He feels gentle hands pulling at the tie draped around his neck. His mum ties it for him, lightly and quietly, and smooths his shirt down after she's finished. Louis feels himself relaxing into her touch almost involuntarily.

"Kids  _will_ be cruel," she says, "but that doesn't mean you have to listen to them."

********

Harry is here and he looks like a heavenly sin, which makes no sense, but it's the only comparison Louis can think of.

He's wearin this ridiculously long peacoat, so Louis can barely see his actual  _clothes,_ but his legs are smooth and bare, so Louis can only assume a skirt is involved. Fuck. His curls are down around his face, which is makeup-free (a surprise) except for the bright red lipstick he seems to be teasing Louis with, and Louis likes him  _so_ much. Being Harry, he's got his white Converse on - " _I thought you said to dress nicely?" -_ and mismatched socks - " _I said dress_ nicely,  _not I'm-going-to-a-wedding_ formal." - which Louis thinks he's okay with, really. He looks adorable and sexy and  _Harry_ , and Louis can deal with that.

Harry greets Louis with a kiss to the cheek and Louis doesn't even care to wipe the lipstick mark from his face, too smitten to even breathe properly. His mum fondles over them and insists on taking pictures, which Louis hesitantly agrees to, and then they're off. Louis forgets Harry has his own car sometimes, truly.

He still doesn't know where they're going, which makes him increasingly nervous, but he holds Harry's hand and he thinks that everything will maybe be just fine.

*********

"Where are we?"

Harry shifts the car into park. "My mum's bakery, of course."

Louis narrows his eyes, fumbling with his seatbelt. "Is it even open?" He gets a snort and a, "Doesn't matter!" in response, so he supposes he ought to just trust Harry. It's worked pretty well up to this point.

The bakery is  _closed,_ thank you very much, as made blatantly obvious by the flashing sign on the front door. Louis squeezes Harry's hand in his own until Harry goes to open the driver's door. "Wait!"

Louis scrambles to get out, shutting the door to his own side carelessly, and rushes around the back of the car. He slams his knee against the boot, but he ignores the irritating waves of pain in favor of making it to Harry. He opens the door like a  _proper_ gentleman, panting a bit, and leans against it. "Hi."

"Hi," Harry purrs, and Louis can't breathe.

"Hey."

"I think we've already gone through introductions, Lou," he teases, and Louis turns beet red again, marvelous. He feels like he does that a lot. "But hi."

"Think we've already gone through introductions, H." Louis isn't that proud of his comeback, knows he can do better, but Harry is making him really weak in the knees because Louis wants to do things to him and it's not okay.

"You are such an idiot," say Harry, voice muffled by his giggles, but he seems to want to humor Louis. He takes Louis's extended arm and they begin to walk to the door, hand in hand, and a new worry suddenly strikes Louis. He stops walking. "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Will your mum be... in there?"

Harry's brow furrows. "Why do you ask? You've met my mum before."

"Yeah, but... that was before we..." he trails off. He thinks Harry understands though, because he hears a soft hushing noise from the other boy.

"No, she won't be," he pauses, kissing Louis's cheek, "I wouldn't worry about it." Louis gets another peck to the cheek, which he returns with newfound confidence, but Harry cheekily tilts his head so that Louis kisses his red painted lips instead. Louis's hands land on Harry's hips as if there's a magnetic pull or something, and Harry tugs at Louis's hair as if it's the only thing keeping him on the ground. Louis really  _really_ likes this, thinks he could maybe stay here (forever) if he had to. Harry's starting to get into it, Louis knows, because his touch is growing a little intense and his tongue pokes clumsily at Louis's own lip, to which he finds himself groaning at. Of course, as always, an unwanted voice spoils it.

"Keep it in your pants."

Both boys jump apart, Harry's hands still latched in Louis's hair that he had spent  _so long_ on, and Louis looks sheepishly at the source of the voice. It's a girl, and Louis isn't sure if he's seeing doubles or if this girl just  _happens_ to look just like Harry. Her dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she's wearing a uniform that leads Louis to believe she works here.

"Lou, this is Gemma." And,  _oh_ , that makes sense. Louis struggles to find an appropriate response to her amused and overall smug expression. Harry lets go of his hair, thank God, but their hands immediately link together again. Gemma rolls her eyes.  
"I will be your server this evening," she drawls in an overdramatic and, well, rather  _posh_  voice if Louis has ever heard one. He glances nervously at Harry, who's grinning ear to ear like a bloody idiot, before he turns his attention back to Gemma. "If you'll follow me."

They walk inside, and Louis's already flushed body is enveloped in a blanket of pleasant-smelling warmth. Or heat. Comes along with several ovens being used at the same time, he supposes. There are a few small tables with chairs and a cute little booth against a window in the back; it seems to be where Gemma is leading them. He looks over at the glass display cases, which are filled with all sorts of scrumptious looking pastries, and he wonders why he's never had Harry take him here before.

When they reach the booth, Harry slides into the side opposite Louis and folds his hands on the table. "The usual, Gem."

Gemma shuffles away, and Louis cocks an eyebrow at Harry at the same time Harry begins to struggle with taking his coat off. He finally gets it off, and, okay. He's wearing a long sleeved white shirt, modest enough, but the skirt he's wearing is tight and black and Louis honestly wasn't prepared, okay? He's glad they came somewhere private, because he appreciates it a lot when Harry has the confidence to wear whatever makes him happy and he isn't sure he'd feel that way if they had went somewhere else. He reaches for Harry's hand again, simply because he misses the way it feels. Harry smiles at him, softly, and he looks so beautiful. Louis doesn't know what he did to deserve this, but it must have been something pretty fucking excellent.

"You're so beautiful," he blurts, because it's the only thing he can think of now. Harry preens under the attention, Louis can tell, because he blushes without shying away. "I- I don't understand why someone like you would want to be with someone like me."

"I could say the same thing," says Harry, leaning closer, "I'm constantly at a loss for words when I spend time with you, Louis. You don't realize how incredibly amazing you are, and it's a damn shame. So my goal is to make you aware of it, because you need to know. You need to know how important and sweet and cute and lovely and-"

Gemma returns with two glasses of ice water and a pair of rather elegant looking danishes. Louis's stomach rumbles in approval. "What else can I get you, sir?"  
Harry takes a drink of water in response, but then his eyes widen comically. "Shit, the lipstick!" Louis has to suppress his giggle behind his hand, because he doesn't want to laugh at Harry during what seems to be a very serious misfortune, but he lets it loose when Harry darts off to the loo to 'just fix it, don't worry'.   
And then he realizes he and Gemma are alone.   
She clears her throat, making Louis shrink a bit as she plops down in Harry's spot. He feels like he might pass out from fear, even though she's smiling, and even says a quick prayer. Sue him.   
"So, you like him, yeah?" she asks. Louis nods enthusiastically, so hard he thinks his head might pop off. Gemma's smile fades a little. "Be careful with him."  
"Huh?" Louis blanks.  
"You have no idea what he's dealt with. He's fragile. Do not, for the love of God, try to change him."  
"I wouldn't."  
"Don't." She runs a hand through her hair. "He's a big dummy and he'll never admit it, but he needs someone to be there for him. He needs someone who can-"  
"Look," he starts, "I know you're his big sister and you want to protect him, but you have got to trust me. If I know Harry at all, then I know he wouldn't waste his time on someone who he didn't want around. I also appreciate you looking out for him, but I'm... I really like him, okay? Don't try to scare me away, 'cause I'm not going away."  
"Louis." He whips his head around and sees Harry there, of course, and he wonders just how many times people are going to overhear things not meant for their ears this evening. "Babe..."

"I'll leave you two," Gemma mumbles, looking quite satisfied, and makes her way back into the kitchens. Harry takes his former spot across from Louis, but he grabs Louis by the collar of his shirt and kisses him roughly before Louis can even utter a single syllable. When Harry releases him, Louis falls back against the booth limply, running his thumb across his lower lip.

"You- motherfucker," Harry laughs, a little hysterical, and Louis thinks they're becoming a stereotype. "Why are you so great?"  
"I-"  
"Makes me so scared to lose you," he admits, voice smaller this time, and he picks at his danish. Louis bites his lip.  
"You won't ever lose me, H." Harry looks up at him. "I promise."  
Without a word, Harry sticks his pinkie out.   
And without any hesitation, Louis links his and Harry's together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what an awkward ending spot past emily


	9. powder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> larry held hands yesterday what a day to be alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is really sappy but i hope you enjoy it anyway

"I'm telling you! She honestly wasn't!"

"Oh, come on." 

"She wasn't wearing any! Fully naked. In her birthday suit. And she looked at me, and I looked at her, and I say 'hi', and she just screams! Total misunderstanding." Harry sits back, hands folded over his stomach. Louis hides his smile behind his hands, but he's laughing so hard that he's worried he might start hiccuping. 

"That's why she always gives you bad marks, eh?"

"I'm not saying yes, but. Yes." Harry smiles back. "And it's not even my fault. The boy's locker room is never a safe place to be going starkers, no matter what time it is."

"Well, I'm sure she wasn't expecting you to be wandering around after school. And, as the health and gym teacher, I think he has the right to be in the-"

Harry shushes him. "You're cuter when you're not trying to prove me wrong."

With pursed lips, Louis drops his hands. They've been out for what feels like millenniums, but he's not bored or tired or even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Harry has enough stories to entertain him for the rest of his life. The silence isn't awkward, but Louis feels like he needs to keep talking before he loses Harry's interest. Admittedly, it's mostly so Harry doesn't realize what time it is, but he also feels as if he can not be blamed. He'd like to stay here forever, thank you.

"I never told you how lovely you look, did I?" he comments, heart slamming in his chest. He can't help it, really; Harry makes him feel nervous and happy and indescribably alive all at the same time. 

"Thank you," Harry says, softly and genuinely, and his eyes fall to his lap. "People don't tell me that very often."

Suddenly aghast, Louis gasps, slamming his hand down on the table so spontaneously that he and Harry both jump. "Well, why the hell not?"

"I think you and I both know why." Harry leans forward and takes Louis's - now slightly reddened - hand in his own. "But it's okay. I don't need other people to make me feel pretty."

He nods. "That's an admirable trait to have."

"I'm glad you think so." Harry ducks his head down, uncharacteristically sheepish, looks up at him through his lashes. Tingles run through Louis's entire body like he's just been shot, but he forces himself to push all thoughts to the back of his head. Harry is his main focus.  _Right here, right now. Live for the present._ "Stop thinking so much."

"How did you know I was thinking?" Louis asks, absentmindedly stroking his thumb across the expanse of the skin on Harry's hand. Their eyes never stop making contact, not even when a pan clatters and Gemma curses loudly from the kitchen. 

"The look on your face. Your forehead does that scrunchy thing." Louis furrows his brow and purses his lips in confusion. "Yeah, that one. That thing."

"Oh." The expression falls from his face. A small smile easily takes its place. Louis doesn't mind. "You notice stuff like that?"

"Of course. I watch you a lot." And, okay.  _That should be creepy_ , Louis thinks, but it isn't. Somehow it isn't. His heart does a backflip, and his other hand comes up to rest under his chin. Harry's eyes are as green as a lush, hydrated forest; they're brighter than the sun and all the stars, deeper than every sea. Frustratingly, completely,  _totally_  beautiful. 

"If I get lost in your eyes, will you come and find me?" 

Harry snorts, and his free hand immediately comes up to cover his mouth. His cheeks flush with color, and a part of Louis smiles with satisfaction. The rest of him, however, blushes even harder than Harry - from his nose to his toes - and he wonders what sort of spell Harry has cast on him,  _Christ_. 

"Of course, Lou. Maybe you should bring a map next time, yeah?" Harry responds, probably feeling proud of himself, Louis thinks. He can tell by the smugness hidden behind his smile, the sarcasm laced in his tone, the glint in his eyes. 

"You..." he trails off, shaking his head. "You. Are  _such_  a dork."

Harry opens his mouth, probably to retaliate, but his eyes suddenly cast upward. There's a shadow over their table, and even though he knows who it is, Louis barely has time to turn before Gemma is speaking.

"Hate to break up the love fest," she begins, and Louis briefly notes that her hair is down now - it curls at the edges just like Harry's - but then her words process and he frowns. "But Mum's expecting us home soon, Harry. Like, now. So."

"Time 's it?"

"Late," she says, and her eyes lock with Louis's for just a moment. She winks, but before Louis can even think to do so much as smile back, she walks away. Harry turns to him. With a cock of his head, he stands up, offering Louis his hand once more. 

They walk out together, silent in a way that leaves Louis completely to his thoughts. Harry flashes through his mind like a slideshow; his smile, his laugh, his confidence, the way he grips Louis's hand tighter when he talks.  _Is this what love is?_ Louis looks over at Harry, who's apparently lost in his own mental soliloquy, and bites his lip.  _But it's too soon._

"Hey, Harry?" Harry doesn't respond with words, but he looks over at Louis with a little smile on his face. Butterflies and nerves stir around in his stomach, and he's forced to look away again. "Never mind." 

Once they're in the car, Louis realizes that he's sort of freezing. He shudders lightly, rubbing his hands together as Harry cranks the heat up. Louis thanks him quietly, and Harry gives him a nod in response. He can tell Harry is thinking, can tell just by the way he moves, but he's not as brave as Harry. Louis isn't sure if calling him out on it would be too pushy, because he knows they've been talking for the entirety of the evening. He especially doesn't want to break Harry's concentration once he starts driving, but the silence is killing him. Just as he's about to say something, Harry speaks for him.

"Sorry. It scares me sometimes."

"What does?" Louis tries to look him in the eyes, but he can't. And he also doesn't want Harry to crash them into a tree, so. He's pretty sure that he can deal.

"Being me." Though he's not facing him, Louis can see the wideness of Harry's own eyes and the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel. The sudden change in Harry should startle him, but it doesn't because it's Harry and there are more important things to be thinking about. He ponders the words for a second, because formulating an appropriate response for such a random thought is admittedly very hard. It's only  _then_  that Louis notices the cross necklace resting on Harry's chest. "People say our emotions don't... comply with what's right. That I'm a sinner."

He's quiet for a few moments. "If we're sinners, then it feels like heaven to me."

Harry does look at him this time, only for a second, but the fear in his eyes is anything but subtle. "I just... you make me feel things. Things I haven't felt before. And, I. I don't want to stop feeling those things. But I'm worried that the person I am isn't the person I'm supposed to be."

"Harry-"

"Because in the past I've been rejected because of who I am. What I do. And it hurts. It makes me want to stop sometimes, to hide it all, to make it seem like it never happened. Just so that people will understand. But then I wouldn't be happy," his voice cracks. "Because  _I wouldn't be me._ "

" _The_  world may disapprove, but you and my family - that's  _my_  world. Your world is theonlyworld that matters. The rest of the people on this planet have worlds of their own. Everyone lives a different life, and you've only got one. You might as well live it however the hell you want to."

"You say that," Harry sniffs, "but you're you. And you're beautiful. And you're perfect."

"I'm far from perfect. Listen to yourself, baby. You know you're amazing."

"I'm not." Harry shakes his head rapidly, and Louis feels so bad that he wants to cry. "I'm not. I pretend I do. I'm not. I'm just as scared as everyone else. And being here with you tonight has made me realize that... that this wouldn't feel so surreal if I was just normal. I'd have more people around if I was just normal."

"Harry," Louis says, tone firm, "I want you to listen to me. You. Are. Amazing. I don't ever want to hear you downgrade yourself ever again, okay? You beating yourself up just shows other people that they can do it too. I don't want you to be normal. I want you to be you. And if that's not what you think is normal... well, what does that mean? Nothing. It means nothing. If being you makes you happy, then do whatever it is that makes you... you. Don't ever doubt that."

Harry doesn't respond, but Louis can see him biting his lip. He leans closer to Harry, because he can tell they're approaching his street and he's running out of time. 

"Even saints were... sinners at one point."

Neither of them speak again until Harry pulls up shakily to Louis's house, his hands dropping from the steering wheel as soon as the vehicle stops. Louis stares at his lap, unsure and nervous, until Harry leans over and kisses him on the cheek. Louis looks at him, shocked, but Harry's smiling softly like Louis has solved all of his problems.

"I don't want to think of you as a sin. If anything, you're a miracle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm quickly approaching the end of my already finished chapters, so the updates will slow down once i get caught up to where i am on wattpad. the mpreg aspect of the story comes into play when the chapter names change from makeup products to dates, so please look for that if you're not into mpreg harry and don't care to read that bit. i think you can read and (hopefully) enjoy this first part of the story regardless!!


	10. lip liner

"How big is your dick?"

Louis closes his book - something for English, he'll have you know.  _Reading_ and  _pleasure_  are two words that he purposely does not allow together - and lets it fall to his lap. "Come again?"

"Like, approximately." Harry is throwing jelly beans and trying to catch them in his mouth, tone light and casual as if they're discussing the weather rather than Louis's... masculinity. 

He wrinkles his nose. "Um, I don't know. I've never measured it?"

Harry sits up, suddenly very serious. "Can you?"

They stare at each other for a moment, and Louis is fairly certain his face is hot enough to fry an egg. That is, of course, until Harry starts cackling wickedly and chucks a pink jelly bean at Louis. "I'm kidding! You should've seen your face."

"I hate you," Louis huffs, successfully embarrassed, and he throws the jelly bean right back. Harry is sitting on his bed, and Louis is sitting across the room on the sofa. The  _sofa_. Harry has a sofa in his room. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. Harry also has excellent water pressure; something Louis had learned during Damage Control after Harry  _accidentally_  smeared chocolate ice cream down his front. 

Harry's still giggling, stuffing candy into his mouth like a child, and Louis might legitimately resent him if he wasn't so fond. He runs his hand through his fringe, sighs, and takes a moment to wonder if Harry is a dream or a boy. Or both. 

"You know, I heard there's, like, insect shit in those," he accuses, pointing at the opened bag on Harry's bed. There's a scatter of colorful beans across the surface, and Louis briefly considers taking it away before Harry pukes.

"Oh yeah?" Harry snorts, popping another piece in his mouth just to spite Louis, "I suppose you read that on the internet?"

"No," he lies. He tries his hardest to keep his expression neutral, but he knows Harry can see right through him. "I... my aunt is a jelly bean manufacturer."

"Is she?" 

"Yes."

"What's her name?" Harry seems too entertained by their dialogue to continue stuffing his face. 

"Shelly."

"Don't say it-"

"Shelly Bean." Louis cracks a smile of his own, and it only gets bigger when Harry lets out a dramatic, heavy groan. "Aw, c'mon. I thought that was a good one."

Harry flops onto his back, taking his bag of beans with him, and resumes his jelly bean throwing. He misses almost every time, the beans ricocheting off his face and hitting the floor, and he hums in response. 

"Harry," Louis prompts, and then when Harry fails to answer, "Harry.  _Harry._  Hazza."

"Mmf," Harry replies. 

"You're going to make yourself sick," Louis tuts as he stands and crosses the room, plucking the bag from where it lays atop Harry's stomach and hiding it behind his back. Harry looks at him with genuine betrayal painted across his face, and Louis has to fight back a smile. He sits up again, pouting, and one of his hands snakes up to grab the bottom of Louis's shirt. "I hate this color on you."

Louis blinks. "Thanks."

With a sly look that Louis knows all too well, Harry purrs, "You should take it off." His lower lip tucks itself beneath his teeth, and Louis almost rolls his eyes.

"Harold. How did we get here, anyway? I'm just trying to take your candy and you turn it into something naughty." Louis turns and sets the bag on Harry's nightstand, allowing Harry to pull him onto the bed. Suddenly, before he has time to process it, Harry's straddling him and messing up Louis's fringe with his hands. "Hey, stop it." Louis's protests do nothing but encourage Harry even further. He pushes Louis's hair back so far that it almost hurts, watches it fall back on Louis's face, and laughs like he's pleased with himself. What a weirdo Louis's got on his hands, honestly.

"I only turn it into something naughty because you're  _so hot_ ," Harry groans, clearly exaggerating, and kissing Louis on the cheek wetly. 

"You're so dumb," Louis scoffs. He loves it. "And horny, apparently," he tacks on when Harry's lips drag down to rest on his neck. 

"'m not. I'm just," Harry pauses, turning so that his cheek is on Louis's shoulder instead, "I'm just. I like you a lot."

"I like you a lot too." Louis softens, squeezing Harry closer to him. He doesn't want him to fall, after all. At least not on the ground. "I like you more than I like..."

"Footie?" Harry asks hopefully, looking up at Louis through his lashes like a vulnerable kitten. Louis's heart does an ugly wrenching thing that honestly causes a bit of physical pain, he thinks, and he's worried that if he blinks, he'll wake up from this dream. If he blinks, it might all go away. 

So, he runs a hand through Harry's hair the way Harry had to him earlier, and tries not to smile at the dorky grin on Harry's face. "More than footie."

"More than takeout?"

"More than takeout."

"Even more than Gemma?"

Louis flushes at the mention of her name, because it's been three and a half weeks since his first proper date with Harry and, consequently, he's been spending more time with Harry's sister than he cares to admit. It's not his fault that she's incredibly good at humoring him when he wants to talk about things that Harry seemingly has no interest in. Football is at the top of the list. 

He remembers when, two days after their date, he took Harry to a park to play a game. It was rainy and cold and Harry wore a hat just to accentuate his misery, and he later confessed to Louis that he had gloves in his pocket too. Watching Harry trip over the ball or take it to the wrong goal had been amusing for the first ten minutes, but then Louis quickly realized that Harry genuinely had no idea how to play. 

After a quick lesson, Harry was able to dribble the ball for a reasonable amount of time. But, with all of his energy focused on keeping the ball going straight, he often missed when Louis came for him and consequently had the ball stolen so many times that he eventually collapsed onto the ground in defeat. 

Louis smiles some more, because he also remembers kissing Harry's pouty lips - because Harry is the sorest kind of loser - and volunteering to give him a piggyback ride to Harry's car. A combination of underestimating Harry's height and overestimating his own strength ended in the two of them on the ground, Harry on top of a breathless, laughing Louis. The lay in the middle of the park for a while, covered in mud and sweat, and snogged until Harry's nose went pink. 

So, despite his developing bond with Gemma, he appreciates that Harry tries for him. That Harry steps outside of his comfort zone for him. He hopes, in turn, that Harry feels the same way. He knows he should, actually; Louis vividly remembers hiking up a hill high enough to make him feel sick with Harry dragging him along -  _"Just a little higher, Lou, almost there!"_  - until they reached the top. It had been worth it, though, because the view was almost as beautiful as the huge smile that broke out across Harry's face. This adventure, Louis realizes, also ended with snogging.

He kisses Harry's forehead. "Even more than Gemma."

Harry wraps around him like a koala, latches onto him in every area he can, and Louis is so, so gone for him. 

So gone, in fact, that when Harry speaks up again with a, "Can I braid your hair?" a few moments later, Louis agrees. 

It's another adventure itself, truly, because Harry looming over him from behind and pulling on his hair and muttering to himself is almost the most adorable thing Louis's ever witnessed. 

"I don't know if my hair is quite long enough, Hazzy."

"Shut up, Lewis." Harry tugs harder on Louis's hair in retaliation, and presumably goes back to his braiding. Louis bites back a retort and lets Harry do his thing, too caught up in the feeling of Harry literally being all over him to care about much else. 

After a few intense minutes - Louis almost cried twice, he reckons - of Harry trying desperately to work the short strands into a braid, he claps his hands. "Done!" He plops down next to Louis, holding out a mirror in his hand, and smirks. 

Louis, needless to say, laughs until he feels like he can't breathe. And, like the rest of their endeavors together, end with a now traditional snog. 

And Louis is- well. He hasn't felt more alive.

____________

Louis meets Harry's mum officially as Harry's boyfriend the next day.

She's already sat in the kitchen when Louis barges in one day without knocking, following Harry's request to come straight in, and stops dead in his tracks. 

"Oh," Louis blurts, and he knows he shouldn't be nearly this nervous because he's spoken to Anne before, and he knows she's anything but intimidating. But, somehow, when she stands and begins to approach him, he feels like his Fight or Flight instinct kicks in and gets the urge to shove her to the side and bolt. Or something like that. 

Anne smiles warmly, holding her arms open for a hug. "Hi, Louis."

Louis's feet feel like they've been aggressively hammered into the ground, because he's about a million percent sure he's not going to move. He stutters profusely when she takes the hint and moves toward him herself, wrapping him up in her arms in what seems to be the Styles way. "I hear you're dating my son."

He tenses up even more, if such a thing is even remotely possible, and forgets how to speak English. "Uhh."

She shakes a little with laughter, patting Louis on the back, "It's alright, love. You're trembling like a leaf."

"Yeah," Louis replies, and when she pulls away, she's still smiling. Louis takes this as a good sign, because he fears he's royally fucking the entire thing up. He had planned on having this chat another day, with well rehearsed responses under his belt, but. They're doing it now, apparently. 

"You two are just the cutest things," she beams, cupping Louis's cheeks in her hands, "I can't say I'm surprised. Harry's been chattering about you since the first day, actually."

Louis blushes."Really?"

"Really. You should see the look on his face when he says your name. Lights up like a Christmas tree." Her hands drop from his face, much to Louis's relief, and her smile falters a bit. "But I do have to ask you, as Harry's mother, to not do anything stupid."

"You have my word," Louis says, feeling as small as a grain of rice.

She smiles at him once more with renewed sincerity. "I know. You're a nice boy, Louis, and you make him happy. And that's all I care about, frankly."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I would love to meet your mum sometime."

Louis gulps. "Maybe when we're married."

Anne laughs, and Louis lets out a sigh of relief. She pats him on the back once more and then he's on his way, up the steps to Harry's room, and he nearly collapses onto the bed when he gets there.

He tells Harry the entire tale, of course, leaving out the bits about being so nervous that he almost vomited. For the sake of time, obviously. Harry kisses him on the cheek and calls him brave, smooths his fringe down and stuffs schoolwork onto his lap while he's distracted with the attention. He's a little shit, Louis thinks, but he does the work because it makes Harry smile. And making Harry smile is one of his top priorities.

He gave Anne his word, after all.

____________

They don't fight for the first time until a week later.

Louis and Harry abide by a strict No Affection In School rule, after reaching a consensual agreement; a rule that Louis takes extremely seriously. Being in a relationship with Harry is something he doesn't want to hide, but he doesn't believe he's fully ready for the rest of the world to see it too. So, hand-holding is as far as they get, and it's good. It's great and, as soon as they're both sitting in Harry's car, they can touch and say and do, but. Inside the building, said things are strictly  _off limits, no exceptions._

So, naturally, when Harry kisses him in the middle of a hallway, Louis is a little pissed.

He supposes Harry's just forgotten, because he runs to Louis with a giddy smile and squeals about getting good marks, and then it just. Happens. He grabs his face and pecks him on the lips, but Louis feels his eyes widen so much that he's concerned about them falling out of his head.

After a quick glance around, he prays no one's noticed and promptly drags Harry into an empty classroom.

"What the hell, Harry?" he huffs, dropping his bag on a desk and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"What?"

"The rule, Harry," Louis stresses, annoyed and worried, and begins tapping his foot. Harry also crosses his arms, but his stance is defensive and his brow is furrowed.

"I'm sorry, but I was excited." Harry frowns even more deeply, taking a step toward Louis. "And how long do we have to keep this up, anyway? How are we to be in a true relationship if we can never express it where we spend the most time together?"

"Look. I'm just not ready, okay?"

Harry nods, but he still looks upset. Louis sighs, "Well, go on then. There's obviously something bothering you."

"You're ashamed of me."

"Excuse me?" Louis blanches. 

"You don't want to be seen with me and that's why you insist on this rule. Because people think I'm some sort of freak show, or something." Harry curls in on himself a little, and Louis feels bad and even angrier at the same time.

"Harry. No. I just told you that it's because I'm not ready, alright? This isn't about you, Christ."

"I'm not making it about me-"

"Yes you are!" Louis huffs, and Harry flinches back at the rise in his tone. "And it's not all about what other people think of you. What about me, hm? Maybe I don't want the entire world to know that I'm... not straight."

"Why not?" Harry exclaims, throwing his hands up. "It's obvious to you that you're not. Unless you've been lying to me this entire time."

"I know, of course. I'm not daft. But I don't want them to know because... I don't want to face the negativity, alright?"

"Isn't it worth it?"

"What?" Louis scoffs. "No."

Harry, who looks visibly hurt, clears his throat. "So you're saying you're not willing to face a few dumbasses for the sake of... us? You're not willing to take a risk?"

"When you put it that way, it sounds selfish."

"Look, Louis. I know I agreed to this over a month ago when we first started... doing stuff, but I can't do this forever. Especially since we'll - hopefully - be getting more serious. And I understand where you're coming from, but I think that hiding who you really are brings more negativity onto yourself than anyone else could. Because you can't accept it."

Louis's cheeks heat. "I can accept it."

"I'm not saying it's all about me," Harry says after a few beats of silence, "but I do know that you're not the only one in this relationship. And I do know that, well, I want to be able to show other people how crazy I am for you. And if you're not ready for that, fine. But you can't get mad at me for wanting to express it."

Harry walks out of the classroom after that, and Louis feels like such a massive dick that he almost knocks the girl who tries to enter the room over in his attempt to catch up to Harry.

He finds him in the bathroom that Harry had first cornered him in - which, Harry admitted on a quiet night in Louis's bedroom, he picked up from a romance novel and decided to try on his own. Louis forgives him, mostly because he's such a dork - and kisses him square on the lips before Harry can even speak. 

"I'm sorry," he breathes between pecks to Harry's red face, "I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I'm not ashamed of you and I'm not ashamed of us."

"It's okay, Lou. I'm sorry for pushing you. You don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." Harry nuzzles into his hand like a cat would. Louis's heart is on fire. 

"No, H. You're right. We can't hide forever and... I don't want to. But we should take things slow, yeah? I just. I'll adjust and-"

"Louis," Harry interrupts, "I'm right here, y'know. We're sort of in this together, you and me. I'm right here. And I'll always be right here." 

A small smile creeps onto Louis's face, and he pinches one of Harry's stray curls between his fingers. Harry smiles right back, and, with their foreheads resting against one another, they make up a new rule. 

They decide to be themselves and take what comes along with it. And, if Louis shakes a little when he walks with his arm around Harry's waist for the first time, Harry doesn't comment on it. Instead, he grips his hand tighter and smiles a little wider, because Louis is trying for him.

And that's all that matters.


	11. lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a mix of sappy and awkward and sexual. what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stop at the ***'s if you don't want to see/read any sexual content. it's not like a full blown smut scene, but it is implied and pretty fucking obvious, so. fair warning!!

Louis has been dating Harry ' _officially_  ' for just under three months when he _knows_ he's either in love or very close to it.

He can feel from his toes to his fingertips every time Harry looks at him or says his name. He feels it in his smile when Harry tells him a dumb joke or confides in him. He feels it in his chest when they hug or when he gets a spontaneous kiss to the cheek. He can feel it everywhere all at once when Harry smiles or laughs too loudly, and he knows. 

But it all feels too soon and sudden and everytime he feels it he panics, tries to keep it under the surface, and wants to smack himself. The last thing he wants to do is scare Harry off by jumping into things too quickly. 

He also wonders if Harry feels the same way sometimes. He wonders when he catches Harry staring at him from across a classroom. He wonders when Harry shows up at his front door uninvited with a box of sweets from his mum under his arm (because Louis's failing English and Harry knows it stress him out to no end). He wonders when Harry holds his hand like he's made of glass, wonders when Harry wakes up him at three in the morning because he's had a bad dream, wonders when Harry steals his jumpers because  _"they smell nice, Lou."_

He wonders if Harry is in love or if he's just extremely perfect.

One day Harry catches him when he's thinking too hard about it, creases between his eyebrows as he worries his lower lip, and pokes him in the stomach. "Hey."

Louis flinches, startled, and pushes fringe from his face. "Hi."

"What are you thinking about?"

He turns to Harry, pausing to think of his response. He briefly gets lost in the way Harry's looking at him. "Just... things."

"What sort of things?" Harry asks, shuffling closer. They're practically sitting on top of each other, and Louis would allow Harry to sit on his lap for real if they weren't in the middle of a bench in a public park. He has boundaries,  _thank you._

"Thing-y things," Louis replies dumbly, wincing at himself, and Harry giggles.

"That sounded dirty."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You're a piece of work."

He knows it's coming before Harry can even move; he juts his lower lip out and furrows his brow in a pout, crossing his arms across his chest. Louis finds it increasingly hard to take him seriously. "I don't appreciate your tone,  _Lewis._ "

"I told you to stop calling me that," he defends, mocking Harry's expression with a pout of his own. 

Harry pokes his tongue out in retaliation, dropping his arms to grab Louis's hands. "Lewis." He leans forward and, mildly horrified, Louis cringes away.

"Don't  _lick_ me!" he crows, scooting to the opposite side of the bench. Harry follows him, cackling like a child, and kisses him square on the mouth instead. "You're such a _dork,_  Harry. Jesus."

Harry's laughter fades into a wide grin as he settles back into his corner of the bench, arms resting on the back. Louis smiles back for a moment, blushing, and kicks tiny rocks with his shoes as a distraction. They lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Tomorrow is their three month anniversary, actually, and Louis still has no idea what to do for Harry. Harry insists on keeping gifts to a minimum, but he gives Louis  _just because_  goodies all the time and Louis feels that this is the perfect time to repay him. The dilemma that presents itself, however, is that Louis lacks creativity and it needs to be _perfect._  It needs to be as spontaneous and wonderful and thoughtful as Harry without being too much or too big. It needs to be something Harry can't accidentally break and shatter as well, as Louis's learned of Harry's clumsiness the hard way (having a glass dropped on his foot has been one of their more gory adventures). 

He looks over at Harry for some sort of inspiration. Harry's eyes are green. He could get him a plant? Louis dismisses this idea immediately, because he can find absolutely no depth behind a plant. Harry already tends to his mother's garden and is able to list flowers and herbs off the top of his head without problems, anyway. He could get him jewelry of some sort, but he feels like something as mediocre and predictable as that doesn't do Harry's  _own_  gift-giving habits any justice. 

Once he woke up to a kitten sat on his chest and a beaming Harry next to him in bed. He had forgotten to mention to Harry that Fizzy is extremely allergic to cats, however, and as much as it broke his heart he had to send Harry and the kitten away. They keep her in Harry's room to raise together when Louis visits, according to Harry. Harry named her Skye and kissed Louis on the cheek, because  _"reminds me of you, and your eyes are blue."_

On a day where Louis stayed home from school with a nasty bug, Harry turned up around lunch time with a bowl of soup in hand. Louis still isn't sure how Harry managed to skip out on the last half of the day, but he was grateful for the company when Harry wedged himself between Louis and the edge of the couch. He ignored the way Louis shivered and sniffled during all the good parts of the movies, bless his soul, and when Harry got sick a few days later as a result he didn't open his mouth to complain even once. 

When the girls were visiting their father and Louis had the house to himself, Harry brought over an armful of board games and  _conveniently_  left them behind. As much as Louis protested, Harry insisted that he keep them for his sisters and that was that.  

All the different instances seem so insignificant and small as Louis analyzes them individually, but when he smushes all of them together he begins to realize that it's the little things that go the extra mile. It's the way Harry lends him an extra pair of mittens when it's especially cold outside. It's the way Harry pats Louis's thigh every time they stop at a light in the car. It's the way Harry ends up in bed with him when they're supposed to be separated,  _because boyfriend sleepovers are different than friend sleepovers._ It's the way Harry cares so much all the time and does everything he can to make Louis feel content that motivates him. 

Harry can probably sense that he's thinking, because he always can somehow, and Louis can feel his stare burning into his side. He hunches over some more, chin on his hand and elbow on his knee, and squints at the grass in front of him. There's melting chunks of snow coating everything and Louis knows it's only a matter of time before another storm hits and he ends up sledding with Harry and the girls again. Down a steep hill. With a first aid kit handy.

He also knows his birthday is coming up in a few weeks as well as Christmas, and he definitely knows that Harry is going to go to ridiculous lengths to make it something special. A part of Louis resents Harry's almost overbearing generosity, but he clobbers that thought because he knows he ought to be grateful. And he is. And he loves Harry.

_Fuck._

"Hazza, will you take me home?" he asks, fumbling for Harry's hand blindly. Harry's cold fingers lace through his own almost immediately, and he gives Louis's hand a gentle squeeze before he responds. 

"Sure, love. It's cold as hell out here, actually." Harry stands, zipping his coat up further, and allows Louis to lead him away. Harry's coat is so puffy and big that he looks a bit like a red marshmallow, arms rubbing against the side of his jacket and making a lot of unnecessary noise that somehow endears Louis even further.

"That doesn't make any sense," Louis says a few moments later, "being cold as hell, I mean. Hell is supposed to be hot and firey, innit?"

"I guess." Harry shrugs. "I've never been to hell, so. Can't say for sure."

A question pops into Louis's head and is immediately followed by a pool of others, and he opens his mouth to blurt them all out without thinking. The words die in his throat, however, as he decides to at least wait until they're in the car and away from the outside distractions. Children are around them everywhere, trying desperately to make snowmen and throwing chunks of it at each other. Two little girls run past Harry and Louis, noses as pink as their knitted hats, hand in hand as they giggle. 

"Twins," Harry mutters. 

Louis glances over at him because of the tightness in his tone, but Harry is beaming at the girls brilliantly. His cheeks are slightly red from the unforgiving gusty weather, but they're full from his smile, eyes sparkling as he turns back to Louis. "Aren't they just the cutest?"

"I have twin sisters, y'know," Louis chuckles, trying to keep Harry moving. Harry stops dead in his tracks, pointing insistently at the girls. "It's not like it's a new thing."

"Well, yeah," Harry huffs, pushing some curls from his face, "but those are your sisters. I've never had a younger sibling before."

He budges again after a few moment of Louis pressing at his lower back, shuffling forward moodily with his arms crossed over his chest. Louis begins to wonder if Harry himself is actually still a child. "Do you wish you did?

Harry bites his lip, eyeing another group of kids who are making snow angels. Their parents are sat on the bench they had just retreated from, watching almost as intently as Harry is. "Yeah. I really love kids, Lou. I wish I had a little sister. I love Gems, don't get me wrong, but. Imagine the possibilities. I'd braid her hair and help her with her lipgloss, babe, I could help her pick out little outfits. I could help her paint her nails and put on her necklaces, zip up her dresses and skirts 'cause that's hard, Louis, are you listening?"

"Of course," Louis scoffs, but he tries to sound convincing so that Harry will carry on with his babble. He's gone for this boy, honestly. He isn't sure how soon they'll make it to the car, because Harry slows down a noticeable amount when he gets focused on what he's saying.

"And I could teach her how to brush her hair just right, could sing songs with her. We could exchange friendship bracelets-"

"I think you have a bit of a blurred idea of what having a younger sister is actually like," Louis interrupts, smiling to himself. Harry unlocks his car and they both clamber in, shuddering lightly, and Louis turns the heat all the way up before Harry even gets a chance to fasten his seatbelt. Harry peers at him suspiciously, gesturing for Louis to continue. "Well. It's basically like having an older sister, I assume. They're annoying and do things to annoy you. Deliberately, like, all the time too. And they make a lot of noise, 'specially when they're babies. They cry and cry and poop and cry," he nearly cringes at the memories, "and they're little, so little. They can't do stuff for themselves, at least not at the age my sisters are." Harry starts to back out of the parking lot, eyes focused on the road, but Louis can tell he's still listening just as avidly as he was before. "And they get away with everything!"

"I'm not sure that little kids can cause that much damage, Lou."

"One time, Lotts drew all over my face with a purple marker. And never told me. I went to school with a purple mustache, Harry."

"That's your own fault. Shoulda looked in the mirror."

"Fuck off," Louis huffs, "can't believe you're turning against me too, now."

"Hey, 'm not. I... would never." Harry shakes his head a little, sitting up straighter and gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly. 

"Good."

_________

When Louis is back at home, he immediately begins his search for the perfect gift. Harry has given him strict instructions to come over tomorrow at three, so he has approximately twenty hours to find something. He rustles through all his drawers in every room he can, coming up short every time, and even ends up searching through his mum's makeup for something unopened.

He's getting a bit desperate.

The lack of money is the only thing holding him back from something fancy and elaborate, truly. He prays that Harry will appreciate the thought behind his gift nonetheless, but he finds himself growing more and more frustrated as every idea he comes up with turns out to be impossible or unfit. 

Louis plops down onto the sofa, thoroughly exhausted, and buries his head in his hands. He hears small, quiet footsteps approaching him and a little dip in the cushion next to where he's seated. "Loubear?"

"What is it, Fiz?" he asks, trying to put on the most patient voice he can, and peers at her through his fingers. She's got her bear in her arms, eyes wide.

"Why are you grumpy?"

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"You're doing the grumpy face." She demonstrates, jutting her lower lip out. Louis would smile if he wasn't so angry at himself.

"Just a little... sleepy. I'm trying to find a gift for Harry."

Her eyes light up. "I like Harry. I can help!"

"You don't have to, little love. We should get you and Lotts to bed, actually, 's getting late." 

She bounces lightly on the sofa cushion. "No."

"Fiz."

"I wanna help!" she crows, eyes scanning the room quickly. "You can give him a stuffie."

"I don't know if Harry really wants one of those-"

"Or a dolly. Mummy gave me a dolly on my birthday. Or a pretty smelly soap. Or a kite."

"A kite?"

"Or a puppy," she contemplates, looking up at Louis with satisfaction. "Any of that."

Louis smiles in spite of himself. "Thank you. You're really smart, Fiz."

"I know." She kisses Louis on the cheek and darts away, and he hears her giggles as she disappears up the steps. 

He sinks back into his previous position, exhaling heavily. His brain races a hundred miles a minute, trying to think at the same time it tries to shut down for the night. 

So, after a few minutes of doubt, he makes it to his own room after checking that all of the girls are tucked in properly with kisses to the forehead. Once he's in bed, he curls himself up and huffs lightly. He wishes he could come up with a way to give Harry all the things he needs for all the different times when he's there for Louis. He wishes he could somehow clone himself fifty times to always be there, ready to handle whatever Harry has for him. 

And, just like that, he knows what to do for Harry.

__________

He stays up all night writing. 

After he's finished, he has twenty five completely different and thorough notes, each in its own specific envelope. Some are longer than others, and Louis's hand feels like it's about to fall off by the time he's finished.

_Open this when you're feeling stressed._

_Open this when you miss me._

_Open this when you want to smile._

_Open this when you're lonely._

He feels rather proud of himself, actually, for remembering almost every instance where Harry has been at his side. He labels each envelope with a different scenario that he himself has been through or know Harry has and definitely will in the future. 

After he's finished, he stuffs them all in a box he finds at the bottom of his closet and tapes it shut, scribbling FOR YOU on the top messily in black marker. 

In the morning, his mum gets home and he anxiously awaits for the afternoon to arrive. He knows Harry hates it when he shows up too early or too late to something, but he's impatient and tired and wants to see Harry. So, at one thirty, he asks his mum to drop him off.

The girls all have to cram into the car, but they make it work. The ride to Harry's house feels thirty times longer with the box in his lap, because each second that passes makes him feel more insecure about it. He hopes Harry's reaction will be positive and that he'll understand the point, that he won't pass it off as too much. 

He wants it to be as perfect as Harry and that's extremely difficult to do when Harry is actually part God.

They arrive at Harry's, and there's no cars parked in the driveway except for Harry's own, so Louis assumes he's home by himself. He kisses his mum on the cheek and almost feels bad for leaving her, especially since their time together is already so limited, but she's been showing up more and more lately and trying harder to spend more time with the group of them. For Louis. He lets his smile linger a little bit longer, until she pulls away and he's left standing in the middle of the sidewalk and smiling at the empty street.

He makes it to Harry's front door without dropping the box, luckily, and knocks three times. He expects Harry to whip the door open as fast as he usually does, especially when he's already expecting Louis, but he doesn't. 

Louis knows he's still an hour early, after all, but he knows where the spare key is and it's cold and. Harry can deal. 

He lets himself in, closing the door gently behind him so he doesn't startle Harry, wherever he is. He notices Harry's-  _their_ cat dart under the couch. _Strange. Harry always keeps her with him, especially since Gemma is allergic._

He heads toward Harry's room, humming lightly to himself, and sees that Harry's door is partially cracked open. There's no music playing from inside as there usually is when Louis surprises him, but the lights are on and the rest of the house is silent. If Harry isn't in here, then it's possible Louis may have just broken into a vacant house.

***

"Hey, Ha-" Louis begins, pushing the door open fully. The rest of his greeting gets stuck  _somewhere_  as soon as he looks up.

Harry is definitely in the room, for one thing, and he definitely was not expecting Louis.

He's completely starkers, to begin, and one hand gripping his sheets tightly. It takes Louis a moment to figure out exactly what's going on until his eyes travel south and he notices that, fuck, Harry's got three fingers inside of himself and his chest is flushed with color.

They make eye contact almost instantly, Louis backing up almost instinctively. Harry looks like he's on the brink of tears as he grabs the nearest object - a pillow - and tries to shield himself. Louis feels a million different responses flood his brain at once, but he is undeniably shocked and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning.

"You weren't supposed to get here until three," Harry grunts, one hand still out of sight, and Louis's going to die, honestly.

"I- I wanted to surprise... you," he mutters, feeling a bit hot, and lets the box slip from his hands, "Harry, fuck. You- you. Fuck."

Harry looks away, obviously embarrassed, and begins to shift around. He turns to look back at Louis. "I'm... so sorry."

Louis's breath hitches as Harry's other hand comes to rest on his bed as he scoots away, curling up with his knees against his chest. He looks completely mortified and his eyes are shiny.

"Well, don't  _stop,_ " he chokes out, hands balling up into fists at his sides. Harry blinks up at him with confusion, and Louis crosses the room before he even knows what's happening.

"Don't stop," he repeats with more certainty this time, swallowing heavily. Harry moves almost comically slow, uncurling himself without ever taking his eyes off of Louis. Louis takes the pillow from Harry's shaky hands and tosses it away.

"Louis?"

" _Fuck._ "

"D'you wanna...?"

"Yeah."

Harry's eyes widen. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Christ. I'm sure. I'm positive." He's already kicking his shoes off. Harry looks a little dazed, not that Louis can blame him - he imagines he'd be caught off guard if someone had barged in on him fingering himself and eagerly agreed to have sex, but.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks again. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"I..." Louis deadpans. "I've never..."

Harry bites his lip."That's okay. I've never... either. Well, not with another person."

Louis appreciates the emotion and the chatter, he does, but mostly he wants to relieve himself and his jeans are constricting him so badly that he wants to cry. And he wants to touch Harry. 

Badly.

They stare at each other for a moment. 

"Okay," Harry says.

"Okay."


	12. lip gloss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reminder that this is an mpreg!! when we got to this part of the story on wattpad so many people were shocked/confused but im telling you now in big, obnoxious letters that **THIS IS AN MPREG STORY** because i really want harry to have babies okay

Harry's head is on his chest.

It's been a few hours and they're both exhausted, Harry especially, but part of Louis is too wound up to fall asleep. 

He hadn't intended on losing his virginity in a spur-of-the-moment decision, but. He can't take it back now. And he doesn't want to, really, because he loves Harry and he couldn't ask for anything more than that. If he's being honest, he'd always imagined something _perfect -_ with rose petals and dim lights, the whole lot - but the feeling of Harry's skin against his is enough. He feels warm and happy and loved all at once, like he's floating in a bubble of bliss, and Harry's hair tickles his neck as confirmation.

He's made it. He's in heaven and Harry is his angel. He kisses the top of his head without saying a word, because he can tell Harry is thinking and he doesn't want to ruin it. 

"That felt different than I expected," Harry blurts. "I've only... fingers."

Louis has to fight back a laugh. "Bad, different?"

"No! Good. It was good."

"Just good?" Louis scoffs, teasing him with a smile. Harry doesn't seem to realize this, though, because he stumbles over his words and apologizes profusely, muttering to himself, and it's so endearing that Louis wants to coo. His brain urges him to pet the sweaty hair out of Harry's face and kiss him on the nose, thank him for being so amazing and perfect and. He so badly wants to tell him he loves him, but he can't. Not  _now_. The last thing he wants is for Harry to think that he's only saying it because they've just had sex, after all. His attraction to Harry goes far deeper than just physically. As beautiful and perfect Harry is on the surface, he's a whole new world of amazing on the inside. Louis knows this, of course, so it's well worth the wait. He'll tell him soon, in a few days. Maybe a week or two or three - he doesn't know, honestly. 

But, no matter. When the right moment comes along, he'll know. And he'll say it. 

He hopes.

___________

"This is really sweet, Lou," Harry gushes, sorting through his letters for the fourth time. Louis shifts, cheeks heating a bit, and bites back his smile. He's delighted that Harry understands and appreciates the gift, but he tries to remain nonchalant and  _not_  like he spent nearly the entire night coming up with and executing his plan. "How on Earth did you come up with this?"

"I, um. I was just trying to think of a way to always be there for you. In every situation. And, I don't have a mobile, so I figured letters were the next best way. So that you'll always have a piece of me, or something," he stutters, feeling a bit ridiculous. Harry's grinning at him widely, lap full of envelopes, and he tilts his head at Louis's words. "That's very thoughtful of you. Your intelligence is very underappreciated." 

Louis scoffs a bit at this, reaching for Harry's free hand absentmindedly. "By whom?"

"Everyone," Harry insists, "I think you're very smart, Lou. You're just so quiet. No one sees it because you never show it, and I wish you would sometimes." His thumb moves across the skin on the back of Louis's hand, and he hangs his head a little. He knows Harry is right. Being introverted has always come naturally to Louis, especially in the presence of others, but he sometimes wishes that wasn't the case. 

It's especially hard when he watches Harry, who is so full of light and energy and confidence, because he envies him in the least menacing way possible. He wants to speak his mind and do as he pleases without fear of consequence, wants to be himself and love himself fully. He wants it more than he wants anything else. He glances up at Harry. "I wish I would too, sometimes."

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with being shy, but I see so much in you. And I know you don't like being stuck with me all the time," Harry teases lightly, perking up a bit at the small smile that twitches on Louis's face, "so maybe that's something we could talk about, if you want? Maybe we could try to make some new friends together. Because if we break up or somethi-"

"We're not going to break up," Louis blurts. Harry's mouth remains open, but the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. His brow furrows a bit, questioning, and Louis clears his throat. "I, like. I meant that we're not... well, I have no intention. To do that."

"Well, neither do I, of course. But it could happen."

Louis shakes his head. The thought of losing Harry frightens him more than he cares to admit. If anything, he thinks, Harry will be the one breaking up with him. It'd take some sort of extreme circumstances to get Louis to pry himself away from Harry or to fall out of love - he'd have to rip his heart from his chest and stomp it in half. Twice. "It's not going to happen. Unless you're having second thoughts? If you are, you should really tell me. Especially 'cause we just fuc-"

"Okay, I get it," Harry giggles, and Louis would roll his eyes if he wasn't so gone for him. "I'm not... doubting us or anything like that, if that's what you're thinking now. I promise I'm not. But I think it's good for both of us to meet and talk to some more people, just in case. I'm still gonna rely on you so heavily that you might want to tear your hair out sometimes, don't worry. It's just that the last thing I want is for you to tire of me."

"I'd never," he responds with full and utter confidence, because he knows he won't. He's never for a second not looked at Harry with the utmost respect and awe, and every day he wonders what makes Harry stick around. There's also the fact that he's in love with him, but he'll save that confession for another day.

It's silent for a few moments, Harry tucking envelopes back into the box, and Louis plays with his fingers. When Harry slides the box from his lap and scoots closer, an idea pops into Louis's head. 

"Hey, wait," he blinks, "you're not my only friend. My friends just don't live here, remember? Haven't seen them in a few years." He looks up at Harry with a hopeful smile and is met with a squint - Harry's suspicion is short-lived, however. "We could go visit them. You could drive. It's not that far, less than two hours if we don't hit any traffic. Road trip, Hazza. You and me." He's bubbling with excitement now, because he's never thought of this before. He'd love to see his friends and he'd love to introduce them to Harry, because it makes it all feel that much more serious and real. He wants it now. 

"I don't know, Lou. We have school on Monday and-"

"We can ditch." 

Harry cocks an eyebrow. "And let our parents kill us? No. We can go next month. When we're on holiday break."

Louis jumps up, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, and all but tackles him to the floor. "So you'll take me?"

"I didn't say that- oh, fuck."

"Thank you. I l- like. Really appreciate it, I really do. And it's gonna be so great, they're gonna love you. And then you guys can exchange numbers and when I get a mobile and a job I'll be able to text them all the time and we can meet up and-"

"Okay, okay, okay." Harry's hands flit to land on Louis's back so that he doesn't tumble to the ground, which seems partially impossible. Especially since Louis's practically on top of Harry and squeezing the life out of him. "You're putting all of your weight on me and my arse hurts like hell, babe."

"Sorry," Louis gasps, releasing Harry and scooting back apologetically. His knees come to rest on his chest and he wraps his arms around his legs, but the excitement is still evident in his eyes. 

"Don't be. We can... we can go visit them if you'd like, say hi. I know it's hard because of your mum, so. Yeah, why not? I just have to ask my mum and we can go. Think of it as my birthday gift to you." Harry looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes, and Louis is so happy that he thinks he may be able to fly. 

Instead of trying, however, he settles for kissing Harry on the cheek. Because it's a lot more possible. 

_______

"Do you think they remember me?"

"Of course, Lou. It's only been what? A couple of years?"

"Three," Louis mutters. "We've chatted a bit on the phone, but we haven't seen each other in a while. Not since my mum's last divorce." His knee is bouncing and his hands shaking, lower lip tucked under his teeth, and he's partially freaking out. It's not fear, per se, but a part of Louis isn't sure what to say or do because it's been so long. It's almost like meeting a stranger again. 

Harry has been unusually quiet for most of the drive, but he claims it's because he's tired. Which, admittedly, may be the case - Louis had kept him up for most of the night on the phone. He worries his mum might be upset when the phone bill comes in, but he needs to hear Harry's voice sometimes. So, at four in the morning when Harry stopped responding, Louis could only assume he'd drifted off. 

He almost said it, just to make it feel more real, but he couldn't. Just in case Harry wasn't completely asleep. Just in case he could hear. It would make the entire road trip experience a million times more awkward if the feeling wasn't reciprocated. 

They're about ten minutes away and Louis can't stop staring. 

Today isn't the first day that Harry's been tired. It's been going on for a better part of the week. He's also been lacking the enthusiasm he usually has, which worries Louis a great deal. It's Christmas Eve and he's not even excited, not even planning a  _party_. He refuses to even make much physical contact with Louis as well because he's got a bug, apparently, and as much as Louis appreciates the fact that Harry is trying to prevent getting him sick on his birthday, he really wishes he could kiss him. He wants to hug Harry and make it all go away. 

"How're you feeling, babe?" Louis asks softly, reaching for Harry's thigh. He sucks in a breath at Louis's touch. 

"I'm good. Don't worry about me. This is your day, babe. Eighteen years old. 's a big deal. This is your last year and then you'll be free." 

Is this what's been concerning Harry? "Hazza, you're only a year younger. And you're smart, too, you're in loads of advanced classes and... I think you'll be fine without me. I don't think I'll be going to Uni," he admits quietly, "because I can't ask that of my mum. We can't... I don't want to stress her out even more. So I'll just stick around, probably. Get a job somewhere and help with the girls, at least for a little while. And I'll still be here for you, always. I'd never leave you behind. Is this what's been bothering you?"

Harry's quiet for a beat. "No. I just don't feel well, like I said."

"Maybe you should go see a doctor. Odd symptoms, aren't they? It doesn't seem like you have a cold. You could be coming down with the flu, or something." 

Harry shakes his head. "No, that won't be necessary. I think I know what it is."

Louis cocks an eyebrow, but the car comes to a stop before he has time to ask any more questions. He looks out the window nervously, and it's Zayn's house. It's just Zayn's house. He's been here before countless times. It's just Zayn, Liam, and Niall. He can handle this.

Louis's other friends are busy and he understands, really, because it's Christmas Eve. And it was a very spontaneous decision on his part, after all. But he'll see Stan and his other mates some other time. For now, he's happy with what he's got. 

"You ready, Lou?" Harry asks, keys jingling as he tucks them in his pocket. 

"I am. Are you?" He turns to face Harry, but he's already getting out of the car. "Right, then. Guess we're doing this."

He stands up shakily, legs a bit weird from sitting for so long, and takes Harry by the hand.

The boys don't know about Harry. Louis had neglected to tell them of their relationship on the phone. His presence will not be a surprise, but Louis fully intends on introducing Harry to them as his boyfriend. This, of course, is causing him a million times more stress and he sort of regrets not telling them before, but it seems like the sort of thing he'd want to do face to face.

So, as they walk to the door, he repeats what he's going to say in his head. Harry rings the doorbell and Louis grips his hand a little tighter so that he doesn't give into the urges to bolt and hide in the car. The amount of time it takes for someone to open the door is short, but to Louis it feels like millenniums have passed. When it does open, it's opened by Zayn's mother. 

She hugs Louis firmly and mutters things about missing him into his hair. He lets himself be smothered, holding onto Harry's hand awkwardly, and he can hear more footsteps round the corner.

"Is that him? Mum! Let 'im go!" It's obviously Zayn, and Louis is so grateful that he could scream. Zayn's mum releases him after a few more seconds, patting him on the shoulder, and he only gets a few seconds of relief before Niall crushes him in a hug of his own.

"Happy Birthday! It's so good to see ya, Lou. It's been ages," Niall crows, and Louis clenches his eyes shut because he's still holding Harry's hand. And he knows Niall sees it, definitely, because he stops talking very suddenly. Niall backs from their embrace. "Who's this, then?" Liam peers at him curiously from behind Zayn. Four pairs of eyes look at Louis and Harry expectantly, and Louis almost sweats from how nervous he is.

But Harry squeezes his hand twice, and he feels it all get a little bit easier.

"This is Harry. I told you about him, yeah? He's..." he looks to Harry and then adverts his gaze to the floor.  _Now or never_. "He's my boyfriend."

Silence.

"And I wanted you to meet him because, um, we've been dating for a few months now and I just really thought that my best mates should get to know him. So I'm sorry that this is so unexpected and I really hope that this doesn't, like, make you uncomfortable-"

"I, on the other hand, am very happy to meet you all," Harry interrupts, and he still sounds so serious and. Not Harry. "And if you're uncomfortable, then you aren't real friends. At least not to me."

It's quiet for a few more moments until Liam speaks up. "Of course we're not uncomfortable, mate. Why would we be?"

Louis is stunned. "Because I- I. Gay."

Niall snorts. "Well, yeah. We already knew that, mate. Remember?"

Louis's cheeks heat. "I'd rather not talk about that. But... I never dated anyone. So you never knew if it was actually true." 

"Regardless. You're our friend and... we support you," Liam adds, looking sincere, and Louis wonders how he got so lucky. Zayn is staring at him with wide eyes, but Louis plays it off as shock, because he doesn't want to ruin this moment. He doesn't want to think of an alternative. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

"You too." Harry tries to sound warm, Louis can tell, but it fails. He comes to stand directly behind Louis, hiding a bit, and more warning bells go off in Louis's brain. They all loiter around awkwardly for a few moments until Niall suggests a game of FIFA. 

Once they're back in the basement with game controllers in hand in front of the television, Louis feels like he's at home. He's missed his friends more than he cares to admit and he loves Harry even more for agreeing to this when he obviously feels like shit. Harry is awful at video games and even worse at video games about football, but he laughs at all the appropriate moments and is a good sport when he fails miserably. 

Harry and Niall immediately take a liking to each other, Louis notes, and he pretends not to notice the way Harry's smiles for him are genuine. He knows it's ridiculous to get jealous when he knows Niall has been dating a girl for the past two years, but a part of him can't help it. Zayn seems to become less tense as time goes on as well, bumping Louis with his shoulders and rambling on about school like Louis had never left.

Liam bounces in between the pairs, adding his two cents wherever he deems it necessary, and Zayn's mum brings them snacks. Once they've finished playing, the game goes off and they sit in a circle. 

Louis knows what's coming before it even happens. 

"Louis, truth or dare?" Niall asks, sniggering behind his hand. Harry's fighting back a smile of his own. 

Louis looks at the pair of them suspiciously. Harry is sitting on his left, hand in Louis's (as usual) and Niall is sitting on Harry's other side. Zayn sits on Louis's right and Liam is in the middle, and Louis is beginning to notice a pattern. "Erm... truth."

"Dammit! You're no fun," Niall grunts. He looks to Harry. "Well, I guess... um. Are you enjoying your day?"

"What the hell, Niall?" Zayn scoffs, "That's literally the worst question you could have asked!"

Niall looks to Liam helplessly. "Sorry, mate, but I have to agree."

"I've got one," Harry says, slow and sure, and everyone's eyes rest on him almost immediately. Lous wonders how he has that effect on people so easily. "Do you ever wish you weren't the oldest?"

Louis blinks at him. "The oldest sibling?" Harry nods. "Um... haven't thought of it, to be honest. I like it, I think, I like taking care of and being there for my sisters. It's nice. I love them a lot and I'm glad to be able to help my mum out. Our lives weren't always the way they are and I have those memories. My sisters don't. So, no, I never wish I wasn't the oldest."

Harry looks away. "Your turn."

Louis bites his lip, because something is wrong. He can see it now more than ever. But he also knows that here is not the place or time to confront Harry. They leave in two hours and he doesn't want to ask him in the car, either, because it could result in a fight and he doesn't want to leave it at that on his birthday. His eighteenth birthday. "Um... Liam. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." Apparently Liam is stupid. 

"Oh, Louis! I've got one! Please, please, please let me ask it! You can do mine next turn or something. Please!" Niall is almost grovelling at Louis's feet.

"Okay, fine. Christ. Stop being so weird."

"Cool. Liam, I dare you to lick the bottom of my foot."

And though they spend the rest of their time laughing and getting along, Louis can see the lack of sincerity in Harry's word and actions. He's probably the only one who notices it because he knows Harry, and he's proud of him for trying his best, but it's not right. 

It's not him.


	13. perfect.

_Open this when you're worried._

_Dear Harry,_

_You're a worry wart. And I wish you weren't sometimes, because you're really great and sometimes you worry about things that you really shouldn't care about. I'm sorry I'm not with you right now, but I can tell you that, regardless of the circumstances, I'm right by your side. And it's going to be okay, yeah? Don't stress yourself too much, love. Think of everything as an opportunity to learn something, that's what my Mum always says. But, I know how you are. If you're getting bad marks, stop reading this letter immediately. I've told you a million times that your grades are far better than mine and you have to stop obsessing over them so much. But worry is a pointless emotion because it's not going to change anything. Think of all the positive sides as well. That's what else she says. Go make yourself a nice cuppa and lay down for a bit, relax, let yourself try to think rationally. Call me at my house if it's not super late. I'll pick up and we can talk through it. If it's a weird time or for some reason you can't or don't want to call me, try your mum. She's absolutely lovely and I think she's probably better at this than I am, anyway. Don't really know what to do except tell you that it's going to be okay. And you're going to be okay. You'll always be in my heart no matter what._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Louis_

_____________

It's a few days later and Louis needs to tell Harry.

The new year is almost upon them - really, it's in a few hours - and he wants to tell him at midnight like a proper sap, he decides, so he invites himself over to Harry's house to watch the New Year's special on Harry's television. Louis's mother is home for the holidays, and after spending a lovely Christmas with her and the girls, she had announced her engagement. Louis has no idea when she managed to get engaged without him knowing immediately but the ring on her finger was big enough to make Louis a little jealous himself - and a part of him hopes a new step-father will help bring in some more money. 

Harry is still being quiet and a bit reserved, and he's eating all of the grapes for some reason. Which, okay, Louis can deal with, but Harry eats every single one and all that's left then is some strawberries because Harry's mother is a firm believer in healthy snacks. 

They're sat in front of the television, Harry in Louis's lap, and he hears him clear his throat.

"I need to tell you something."

Louis glances to the clock apprehensively. Four minutes to go.

"Is it important?"

Harry hesitates. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, baby, but can you wait until this is over? I want to give you my full attention and... and I have to tell you something too."

Harry sits up in his lap, shifting so that he's looking at Louis's face. His eyebrows perk up in a silent question, but Louis gives him a cheeky grin in response and kisses his nose. Harry huffs, resting his head in its original position on Louis's shoulder, and kisses Louis's collarbone lightly. "Okay. Go on."

"I..." he needs to kill three and a half more minutes. "Um. How about we tell each other at the same time?"

"Why would we do that?" Harry asks, clearly put on edge by this suggestion.

"It'll be fun and then... it'll be cute, H." Louis scolds himself mentally for being so shit at distractions, but he can feel his heart thrumming violently in his chest and he can't think of what Harry would need to tell him except for the very same thing he plans on doing.

Harry's going to tell him he loves him. He's sure of it. And, as exciting as that is, he wants to say it simultaneously. For extra sappiness, of course.

Harry lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Okay... fine. But we have to talk about it afterwards, okay? It's-"

"Hush, two minutes, love."

Harry slides out of his lap and into the seat next to him on the sofa. Louis turns to stare at him, watches his knees bounce, and places a hand on Harry's thigh gently. "Alright?"

"Yeah, just... excited."

They lapse into silence again, watching the people on screen and the clock tick down. 

There's a minute left and Louis begins to panic a bit. "Okay, so I'll count down from three and then we'll say it. Like. Three, two, one, say it. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Just to be clear, we're saying it after one."

"Okay, Louis. I get it-"

"Not on one. After one." He figures if Harry begins to say it first and it ends up being something catastrophically opposite, he can find a way to weasel out of it. For now. He bites his lip, feeling a bit anxious, but also happy. He's only nervous because he wants Harry to say it back, and he knows he's in love. 

Harry rolls his eyes. "Okay."

They reach ten seconds and Louis grabs for Harry's hand and squeezes it like there's no tomorrow. "Ready?"

"No."

"Five, four, three, two, one- I love you," Louis blurts at the exact same time Harry mutters, "I'm pregnant."

Louis freezes. "What?"

"What did you say?" Harry sounds terrified. Louis, on the other hand, feels a bit hysterical. He turns to face Harry, who's spluttering, "Did you just - did you just tell me that you love me?"

"You're pregnant?" Louis feels like his heart has literally fallen through his stomach and out his arsehole. Literally. He can only pray that Harry's kidding and he's absolutely mortified that Harry's response didn't match that of his own, but there are more important things to worry about. Even in the darkness of the room, Louis can see the fear on Harry's face. He's got his hand over top of Louis's, which is still on his now still knee, but his fingers tense up. "But I... we used a condom. I used a condom. You're kidding."

Harry bites his lip. "I... I don't... I was feeling really off and tired but I knew it wasn't the flu because no one around me has had it and I just. I was at the market with my mum and we passed a shelf of pregnancy tests and it all clicked. So I took one," he fumbles for something in his pocket, pausing his words; once he gets it out Louis almost vomits himself. Harry drops the object in his hand. He stares at it like it's something he's never seen before. "And." 

Louis slowly slides his hand out from underneath Harry's, who looks like he wants to pass out, and shakily picks up what Harry has given him. It's a pregnancy test, he knows, and he's almost trembling too hard to even see it properly. 

There's a little pink plus on the end.

"It's positive," he says stupidly, staring at the plus. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry says, so quietly that Louis almost misses it, in fact; he drops the test again and immediately buries his face in his hands.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Louis hears light sniffles. 

He looks up, confused, and immediately wants to punch himself in the nuts when he takes in the sight in front of him. Harry is crying, both hands on his stomach, where he's clutching his jumper like a lifeline, and is curling in on himself. "Baby, no." He rushes over to Harry and the stick falls to the floor, forgotten. Harry cringes away from Louis's touch, burying himself further into the edge of the couch, and Louis's heart breaks a little. He wraps his arms around as much as he can, holding a now sobbing Harry to his chest, and buries his nose in his hair. "It's okay, it's okay."

"I'm s-so sor-ry, Louis, I didn't m-mean t-to, I'm s-so-sorry." Harry sobs harder than Louis has ever heard anyone cry in his entire life, which says a lot because he has four younger (sensitive) sisters. He's not sure what to do because he feels numb on the inside, but for now Harry is his priority. He rocks him back and forth against his chest, muttering sweet things into his hair, kissing at the top of his head. His hands soothe over Harry's shaking back, and he can feel the wetness from Harry's tears soaking through his shirt.

Eventually Harry seems to tire himself out and settles into more sniffles, hiccuping and clutching onto Louis's shirt tightly. Louis pries himself away for a moment and Harry's arms fly out to pull him back in. "Hey, easy, love. It's alright. I just want to look at you." Harry's face is streaked with tears, as expected, and his lower lip is trembling. Louis thinks he would look adorable if he wasn't delivering life-changing news that has his mind reeling. "Harry, baby. How long have you known?"

"Since the day before your birthday." His voice sounds wrecked. Louis is unable to help himself and reaches forward to push some stray curls from Harry's face, lets his hand linger in Harry's sweaty hair for a moment; and then his words process. "Wait, Haz. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Didn't know how," Harry says, sounding dangerously on the verge of tears again. Louis panics. 

"No, no. It's okay. Shh, it's okay. I'm happy, yeah? Get to have a... baby... with the one I love," he tries, and. Shit. 

"You love me?" Harry asks, small and shy, and ducks his head so that Louis can't see his face. The room is still illuminated from the television screen, where colors and confetti and fireworks flash all over, and Harry still looks beautiful. Louis takes a moment to smile at him, because he really does.

"Yeah, I do." He looks down at his lap. "But you don't have to say it back if you don't mean i-"

"I love you," Harry blurts, still sounding nervous, and Louis doesn't think his head has every snapped back up so quickly. It almost hurts. Harry is already looking back at him, hiding a part of him with his shirt sleeve, and he looks so young. The realization that Harry is seventeen in a  _month_  or so and  _pregnant_  hits him hard. "I love you, Louis. I love you so much. I love you, I love you-"

"Fuck, Hazza," he says, laughing a little hysterically, "I love you."

They're hugging again before Louis knows it, Harry in his lap and holding onto him so tightly that it almost constricts his breathing, and he almost gets lost in the scent of Harry's shampoo. His eyes slip closed, chin on Harry's shoulder. Harry's feet resting at the bottom of Louis's spine is the only thing keeping him from drifting off into thought. 

"You're pregnant," he whispers, testing the words out. "You're actually pregnant. There is something inside of you. It's real. And I made it. And so did you. And you're pregnant. With a child."

"That's generally how it works, Louis," Harry mutters back, sounding a lot more like his normal self. Louis fights the urge to scoff, because the situation is very delicate and he's having a hard time wrapping his head around it.

"I don't understand... I was so careful, and. Guys don't get pregnant as often as girls, right?" He briefly remembers learning about it in health at one point or another; he thinks one of his uncles got pregnant, _maybe_ , but he _knows_  it's a lot more unlikely for a male to get pregnant. 

The boy in his lap, however, is anything but ordinary, he knows.

"Twenty-one in every one hundred women get pregnant each year even with condoms," Harry states matter-of-factly, "I looked it up when I first found out. 'Cause I thought I was dreaming. And... my cousin is pregnant too. And his father was pregnant with him. Runs in the family, I suppose."

"We've gotten ourselves in some deep shit, haven't we?" Louis laughs humorlessly, feeling the worry and reality seep into the pit of his stomach. "I'm broke. You're younger than me and you still have a year left in college... we've only been together for a few months and... you're so young. I'm young. Fuck, Harry, I... I'm not saying I'm not happy, but." He's not happy, really, he's extremely and totally worried. "We can't stop this. It's gonna happen. We're going to have a kid."

Harry ponders this. "Yeah. It doesn't feel real yet, really. And, well. It's possible the test may have been wrong. I have an appointment scheduled for three days from now, was gonna tell you sooner, I promise. I haven't told my mum yet because I want to know for sure. And... shit, she's going to lose it," he whimpers. Louis's hands immediately begin to trace circles onto Harry's exposed skin at the bottom of his back. 

"Don't worry about that right now. I love you," he says, trying to keep himself from crying. He has to be strong for Harry. For their possible baby. "And no matter what, we're in this together." He pulls back to kiss Harry once, and rests their foreheads together. 

"Okay. I love you, Louis." 

_________

They go to the doctor a few days later. 

Harry is, indeed, about five or six weeks pregnant. 

They're having a baby.

__________

not edited whoops (o:


	14. six weeks - jan 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii. welcome to part two. this part is going to focus on the mpreg part of this story, so if mpregs aren't your thing, now would be a good stopping point. that's the main reason i split it into parts, actually. 
> 
> also, the chapter names have shifted from makeup to the point in harry's pregnancy that we're at! that's mainly so you guys know how far along we are and so i can stay on track as well. despite male pregnancy being completely impossible in real life, i want to keep this as accurate as it can be. which means a lot of research on my end.

"Fuck, we have to tell my mum." Harry's been cradling his stomach like it's going to explode from inside of him the entire time they've been sitting in the doctor's office.

She's just left the room to write down Harry's prescription for prenatal vitamins -  _"Prenatal vitamins, Louis, I have to take vitamins every single day. There's a baby inside of me, what the fuck?_ " - and Harry looks like he's going to pass out. Which, okay, Louis totally understands because he feels the exact same way. They've gone and fucked around and created an actual child and it's real and it's his, Jesus, which overwhelms him more than he cares to admit. He keeps this to himself, of course, mostly for Harry's sake. 

"Yeah, H, we do. And mine." The thought alone makes Harry pale excessively, so Louis's hand flies out to rest on top of Harry's. Harry's breath hitches a little. "D'you think it's a girl, Lou?"

"I don't think it really is much of anything yet, love," Louis says, quietly and softly as to not upset Harry (whose hormones are probably raging), but then it really sinks in. There is a child beneath his hands, beneath Harry's, beneath it all - and it's real. They made a person. "We made a person, Harry."

"I know," Harry sniffs, and he's crying again. Louis isn't sure if it's because he also has begun to come to terms with the almost surreality of the situation or if he's just very emotional in general, but he decides not to question it because he values his face the way it is. Harry's hands slide down from his stomach to his lap, and he takes Louis's hand in between them. "I can't believe it. This is going to change everything."

"I know."

"It's going to  _ruin_  everything."

"Baby, no. Don't think like that." Louis's heart rate picks up a little when Harry's crying fails to stop, because. Well. "Do you not... want it?"

Harry's eyes widen almost immediately, and he almost looks offended. "Of course I want-"

"Because if you, um, wanted to get an abortion. Then I can understa-"

" _Louis_ , no." His tone is breathy and he's hiccuping, but he still grips Louis's hand so tightly that it almost hurts and looks him dead in the eye. "I don't want to get an abortion. Of course not."

He can't help but feel relieved and simultaneously confused, because trying to raise a child when he's barely eighteen is probably one of his worst ideas ever. But Harry is pregnant and they can't change that, so they have two options. "Do you want to keep it?"

"Do we have to call the baby 'it'?" Harry says, completely ignoring Louis's question. "I don't want to say 'it'. It makes it seem like we're talking about, like... a table. Not a child." Louis wants to roll his eyes. 

"Well, what do you propose?"

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his stomach again (even though he's not showing at all and Louis knows Harry can't feel anything yet, but. He's not one to question Harry or his motives). "Bean."

"Bean?"

"Bean," Harry confirms, nodding like he's just solved all of his problems, and Louis can't complain because it's better than tears and panic, so. Harry looks to him for approval.

"Why bean?" It's not that he doesn't _like_  it, per se, but he's not sure he wants to refer to his child as a vegetable for the first nine months of their life. He does want to make Harry happy, though. He wonders if they can, perhaps, come to a nice compromise. He immediately shakes that thought away, fighting back a scoff at himself, because he knows he'll end up going along with whatever Harry wants anyway.

"'Cause they're the size of, like, some sort of bean. A lentil. Close enough, yeah? Plus, it's cute. Baby Bean." Harry's mouth twitches up into a sort-of smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, so Louis goes with it because he hates sad Harry more than anything else. He gets a kiss to the cheeks in return. "Or maybe Peanut."

"Anything not food related? I know it's near your stomach, but-"

"Oh, shut up." Harry's smile widens. "Okay, what about Bambi?"

Louis cocks an eyebrow. "I think if anyone is Bambi, it should be you."

Harry huffs, looking affronted, and drops Louis's hand. "That is an unfair accusation."

"C'mon, love. You're lanky and you fall over all the time-"

"I don't have to listen to this!" Harry crosses his arm over his chest. "It means little one, or something. I like it. And if you're going to complain about my nicknames, you think of one. Lewis." And then, in all his maturity, he pokes his tongue out at Louis. It takes every ounce of willpower within Louis to not kiss him then and there, because he's in love with a child and it should be scarier than this but it's not. 

"I like them all, baby." Harry's eyes soften. Just as Louis is about to say something sincere and probably sickeningly sweet, the doctor barges back in and announces that she wants to see Harry again in three to four weeks. "We'll see you more often after the fourth month, love. If you have any questions or concerns, do call. My secretaries all have little ones of their own and I'm sure they'd be glad to help you out." 

They're on their way so fast that Louis barely has time to blink. They don't have an ultrasound picture, because they haven't done one yet, but the doctor promises that they will get to it within a few appointments in order to confirm Harry's due date. Due date. Louis gulps a bit, because he's not ready to think about what will happen once the baby is born. He's not even sure if he's fully accepted that this is real. Maybe he will when Harry looks like he's about to pop, but. He's got some time. Harry has a lollipop for his troubles, and he eats it even as he's driving them back to his house. Once they've pulled up, he looks stressed again. "I have to tell her."

"I'm right here," Louis reminds him, reaching for his hand once again. Harry takes it gratefully, giving it a squeeze, and he bites his lip. "It'll be okay, Hazza. She loves you and it'll be okay."

Harry drags Louis into the house with him, because he can't do it alone, and Louis is scared out of his mind. He doesn't say a word out loud but he thinks Harry can tell in the way he walks and nearly hides behind Harry when Anne greets them. He isn't sure when he'll tell his own mother - soon, albeit his nerves are trying to convince him to put it off until he's literally holding his child for the first time - but he doesn't have time to focus on that at the moment. Right now, he's here for Harry, who's almost squeezing his hand off. 

"Mum, I have to tell you something." Shit, shit, shit, he's actually going to do it and if Louis is being honest with himself, he knows this could go rather terribly. Harry is sixteen (seventeen in less than a month, he keeps reminding Louis) and pregnant and neither of them have a job. They've only been in a relationship for a few months (Harry also keeps reminding Louis that their six month is coming up soon), and Louis's family is in no position to be able to raise another person. He's going to have to get a full-time job and Harry might have to leave school for a while, maybe even get a job himself, and he doesn't know if his or Harry's mothers will even house them any more - Jesus Christ, it's scary and new and he has to excuse himself before Harry can even get the words out lest he throw up over both of them.

He speeds off to the bathroom and crouches in front of the toilet, just in case, and he can hear the light pitter-patter of Harry following him up the steps. His hands rest on the edge of the bowl to steady himself, because he's shaking a little, and he takes heavy breaths to try to calm himself down. "Lou?"

"I'm fine," he says, except he knows he isn't and Harry worrying about him only upsets him even more. "I might be sick, um."

"Louis," Harry sighs, sitting down next to Louis's trembling form and resting a hand on his back. They stare at each other for a few seconds, Harry's eyebrows lifting. "In this together, yeah?"

He's right. Harry is there for him just as much as he's there for Harry. "Yeah. You're right, yeah. I'm sorry, I just got really scared and overwhelmed and started thinking and - I'm not ready, Harry, I'm not ready to be a father," he admits, feeling sheepish and stupid and small. Harry looks at him without any judgement or anger in his eyes, bless him, and Louis is so in love that it hurts. 

"You think I am?" Harry asks, breathless and humorlessly, and shakes his head. "God, Louis, I'm scared shitless. I have been ever since I took that test. It's better now that you know, though, 'cause now I have you at my side. And... I don't know if this makes it better or worse, but I want to keep this baby and I want to raise it. They're our child. And even if they were a... huge, huge, huge mistake, I think I love them already." 

"I love you, and I love our little Bambi... or Bean. Or Peanut." Harry smiles. "Whatever the hell we're calling it now. I love them and I love you and. You're right. We're in this together. We'll get through this together."

Harry nods. "There's plenty of time to talk about the future and our plans for it, but right now my Mum is really worried and thinks we may have like, gotten hitched, or something, so I think the first step would be to tell her. And then tell your mum. And go from there."

Louis is quiet for a few moments. "Okay."

"Still think you'll be sick?" His stomach still isn't very happy but he thinks he can keep it under control, at least for a few more minutes, so he nods and lets Harry help him up from the floor. "Shouldn't I be the one helping you around?" Louis teases, poking Harry in the chest. Harry rolls his eyes and scoffs, "I'm pregnant, not dying." 

"Thank God for that," Louis mutters, and he lets Harry lead them down the stairs.

They tell his mother quietly and it takes several minutes for her to say anything. She doesn't believe them at first, but Harry shows her the pregnancy test (that he's been carrying around or something? Louis makes a mental note to either have him dispose of it or frame it or something because as much as he loves Harry, he doesn't want him carrying around a piece of plastic that he's pissed on everywhere) and the paper with his prescription. She stands and walks away, a frown etched onto her face, says she needs a moment and disappears into the kitchen - Harry promptly bursts into tears, of course, and Louis tries his hardest to keep Harry's sobs to a minimum. 

When she returns, she sits down and carefully asks them how far along Harry is.

"About six weeks, maybe a little bit less or more." Harry's hands seem to be forever attached to his stomach. Anne's gaze floats down to them. She sighs. 

"To begin, I'm glad you told me now instead of waiting for me to figure it out on my own." Every word she says seems to make Harry more tense. "And... while I admit that I don't fully agree with the circumstances, I'm your mother. And I will never stop loving you." Her eyes flit to Louis, who suddenly feels the urge to get up and flee. "And I want you both to know that I'm here and I will support you through this." She shakes her head. "This isn't good timing. Have you two given any consideration to how you're going to make this work?"

"I'm going to get a job, ma'am," Louis says before Harry gets a chance, "I'm going to get a good job. Maybe even two. And... I'll do whatever it takes to be there for Harry and this child. Please don't kill me in my sleep."

"Louis," Harry mutters, clearly embarrassed. 

"I won't do that," Anne smiles, and Louis realizes that he's fallen in love with everything about Harry, including his amazing mother who seems to have a never-ending supply of love. "This is... this is going to change everything, you know."

"I know," both boys say at the same time, and Harry shrinks even further into Louis's side. "But we can't change it and... it's really incredible, isn't it?" Louis says, getting lost in it for a moment. "We've created another person. Like. A whole new person. Harry and I did that and it's so new, yeah, but we can do it. I know we can."

Anne's staring at her lap but her smile looks sincere now. "I'm glad it was you."

"Hm?"

"I'm glad he fell for you," she says, and everything feels a little bit less scary.

 


	15. six and a half weeks - jan 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh spaghetti-o's

Harry is eager.

It seems he's either gotten over his skepticism or is great at pretending it doesn't exist, because he's already planning a nursery in the spare room at his mum's house and writing lists of names. He's bookmarked at least a dozen web pages full of baby clothes and purchased about four ridiculous parenting books -  _Your Pregnancy Week by Week; You're Gonna Be a Dad, Dude!  -_ and is obsessed with wearing shirts so tight that Louis is almost concerned he can't breathe properly in them. He also makes Louis measure around his torso every day. Every day.

"Harry, you know you're not going to show-"

"Do it." He thrusts the tape measure into Louis's hands and lifts his arms up, kicking his shirt across the floor. He's standing in front of the full length mirror in his room and he stares at Louis's reflection expectantly. Louis sighs. "You're literally the same size as you were yesterday," he says, tossing the tape onto Harry's bed and wrapping his arms around Harry's stomach instead. 

Harry huffs. "No, my stomach pokes out a little right here." He guides one of Louis's hands in between his hip bones, and there is the very smallest beginning of a bump there, Louis guesses - it barely juts out and it's only visible because Harry's torso is so flat on its own. "See? That's a person, Lou," he says, mesmerized by the way Louis's hand looks on top of his skin. He rests his own hand over it, and sniffles. 

"Baby, no." He's only known of Harry's pregnancy for a short amount of time, but he's learned the signs of a good cry very quickly. The sniffles come first, then the pink nose, and then the wobbly voice. And  _then_ the tears. Harry cried when Louis kissed his stomach for the first time - _which_ , Louis thinks,  _is practically nonexistent, but._ \- and he called Louis in tears at six in the morning after a nasty wave of nausea. Morning sickness has been inconveniencing Harry horribly within the past few days. Harry insists that it's normal, his book even _says so_ , but that doesn't stop him from complaining and then proceeding to consume all of Louis's food at lunch. ("I'm creating a person, Louis; I think I'm entitled to your applesauce.")

Louis is extremely worried about people at school noticing, especially because Harry is leeching to him and eating like a horse. Harry insists that it's all in Louis's mind but he swears he feels people staring sometimes, and he's not a jerk. He's not ashamed of Harry or of their relationship, but Harry is pregnant now and they can only hide it for so long. 

And he still has to tell his mother.

________

It all starts to go downhill after school the next day. 

They're out at a store because Harry is craving vanilla ice cream and jalapeno flavored crisps at the same time, and he almost bit Louis's head off when he laughed at him for it, so. They're going to buy the crisps and ice cream and the earth is still round.

They're on their way to a self-checkout when Harry notices the baby section. 

Louis notices Harry's eyes dart away from his face mid-sentence and he follows his gaze. He immediately regrets coming to a superstore instead of just a regular grocery store. "Harry, no."

"But  _Louis_ ," he whines, throwing his head back dramatically, "I just want to look."

It takes two entire minutes of convincing on Harry's part and Louis finds himself surrounded by small onesies and stuffed animals before he can even blink. He's not sure when he became so whipped, but he does admit that watching Harry stroke the tiny clothes with wonder is pretty adorable. 

"Louis, they're so small," he breathes, cooing at some pink booties that they really don't need. Not yet. 

"Babies  _are_ small, Hazza," Louis chuckles, turning to face Harry. "You're the youngest, yeah? Probably don't have much experience with babies." Harry shakes his head, still staring at the shelves, and finally moves his hand away. 

"It makes it feel really real," he says, and Louis gets it. He does. Standing in an aisle surrounded by little clothes and toys makes the remaining months feel like days. They have nothing yet and they barely have any time to prepare, holy _fuck_.

"Maybe we should be looking at stuff..." Louis trails off, biting the nail of his thumb. "I mean, we can start small." 

Harry tilts his head to the side, thinking, and he points to a stack of fluff. "Blankets."

Louis turns and has to clear his throat to keep from squealing, actually, because they're so small and  _cute._  Harry picks up a white one decorated with little doodles of suns, or something, but it's perfect and Louis loves it. And he loves Harry.

So, needless to say, they buy the blanket and the food. Harry has to drop Louis off because it's getting late and Louis needs to be home for the girls, so he gives Harry a kiss to the cheek and nose before he gets out. He's taking a driver's education course this semester and Harry is giving him (very terrifying) lessons, because he feels bad for basically having Harry as his chauffeur. And Harry isn't going to be able to drive properly when he goes into labor, so.

They've discussed it. Harry is due in late August or early September. Harry doesn't menstruate, so they've calculated his due date using around the day that they know their baby had to have been conceived (as it was the only time they'd had sex six or so weeks ago). 

_"Genetic mutation," their doctor had explained, "only present in some people, approximately a third of the male population. Which is why you heard it's not as common, yes. Both of your parents must have been carriers, Harry."_

_"Does that mean I'll get periods?" Harry whines, and Louis pales a bit._

_She smiles. "No. You're sixteen and a late bloomer, but you still have a fully functioning male reproductive system." Harry blushes at her words. "The female reproductive organs that you and I are familiar with, like the uterus-" she points to a diagram on the wall of a woman's insides, or something (Louis is mildly disgusted), "come from something called the Müllerian duct during the development of a fetus. It usually breaks down for males, of course, except for people like you. It's, as I said, a mutation - you still have the chromosomes and external genitalia as a normal male."_

_"Does that mean I'm not... normal?"_

_"That's not what I meant, no. You've just got something special. You mentioned having family members who have experienced pregnancy as males? It is likely, because genetics definitely play a huge role here."_

_Harry nods, sniffles fading. "I do."_

_"Will the baby... come out the way it... went in?" Louis asks, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. Harry shoots him a thoroughly embarrassed glare. The doctor - Louis thinks she asked them to call her Cathy - smiles again. She's always smiling._

_"Heavens no. While possible, natural birth for males is extremely painful and labor is already long enough, on average, for them as it is. It's also quite dangerous, because tearing is a lot more commo-"_

_"C-section it is," Harry interrupts, squeezing Louis's hand._

He smiles at the memory, but Harry is sort of waiting for Louis to get out of the car, so.

Louis watches Harry pull away, waving until his car becomes a dark dot in the distance. He turns around and all of the lights in his house are on, suspiciously, and then he notices his mum's car parked in the driveway.

And another car.

He walks stiffly to the door, entering as quietly as he can, and slips his shoes off by the entrance. He's glad he's left the bag with the blanket with Harry, especially when Fizzy rounds the corner and smacks into his legs because she's not looking where she's going and running way too quickly.

"Hi Fiz," he says, patting Daisy and Phoebe on their heads as he wanders into the kitchen. His throat is dry and voice raspy, because he may or may not have given Harry a blow job before their trip, but he thinks it's not anything that can't be fixed with a glass of water.

"Where have you been?" she asks cooly. Louis sets Felicite down.

"With Harry," he says, trying to remain as casual as possible. Louis has always been terrible at lying, so he avoids eye contact and searches for a glass instead. His mother clears her throat. "At this hour?"

"It's not that late," Louis defends, "the girls are still awake."

"You've been spending so much time with Harry," Lottie whines suddenly, and Louis has to fight the urge to kick her incredibly hard. Jay cocks her eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. Louis immediately panics and scans the room, searching for a distraction. "Why is he here?" he asks, pointing toward his mum's fiance.

Dan looks like Louis is making him uncomfortable. Good. "Don't be rude, Louis," she scolds, and Louis sets the empty glass he's found down a little too harshly.

"Harry is my boyfriend. If you're allowed to spend so much time with yours, why can't I?" he bites, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Jay huffs a little, standing up straighter. Lottie stares between the two of them anxiously. 

"You're seventeen-"

"Eighteen," he corrects. "I'm eighteen now, Mum."

"Eighteen. You're eighteen. I'm an adult and Dan and I are engaged. It's different."

"Harry needs me right now."

"Why is that?"

Louis backs up. "He's... going through something. I'm just trying to be there for him."

"You visit him every day!" Lottie chimes in.

"Shut  _up_ ," he hisses. His mother glares at him with heat that he hasn't see in a very, very long time. He never argues with his mother. Not like this, at least, and he hates it but he can't leave Harry at this point in time for all sorts of reasons. He wants to be there.

"What is so important that you think it's okay to neglect your responsibilites? You know I need you home."

Louis avoids the question purposely, averting his gaze. His bare feet have suddenly become very interesting.

"Louis," she prompts.

He feels his lower lip trembling. "He's pregnant." He says it so quietly that even he can barely hear it.

"What?"

"I said," he stutters, heart pounding, "I said he's pregnant."

"Pregnant?" she gasps, and Louis is fully expecting her to start yelling. "Why do you stick around if he's pregnant?"

He furrows his brow. "Excuse me?"

"Did he cheat on you, or something? Or did it happen before you two got together?"

Louis blinks. "Mum-"

"But surely he'd have told you earlier in the relationship if that was the case-"

"Mum," he cuts her off. "No. Harry is pregnant and... I'm the father."

She stops immediately, and it's like Louis has hit a pause button. Her mouth is still open, hand on her forehead, and it's almost comical in a twisted sort of way. "You're what?"

"I'm the father," he repeats, and he's so glad everyone else has left the room. He feels tears pricking to the surface, tightness in his throat, and he tries to keep his voice as strong as he possibly. "I'm sorry, I-"

"You're lying." She doesn't seem to want a response, so Louis gladly shuts up. "You're lying. No son of mine would... do that. You wouldn't get someone pregnant. Not this young. I know you wouldn't. I raised you better than that."

Something in Louis snaps. He's not sure if it's her tone or her words or the way she's looking at him, but he almost feels it physically, even. "How can you raise me when you're never around?"

"That's  _not_ my fault," she hisses.

"You were never here and you never have been," he shouts, failing at keeping his voice down, as he originally intended (for his sisters's sakes). "You don't even know who I am anymore!"

"Well, maybe I  _don't,_ because the Louis I know would  _never_  be so irresponsible."

"I used protection. I did everything I was supposed to do and it still happened, Mum, it's not my fault."

"Who's is it then?"

"No one's!" he cries, throwing his hands up in the air. He's sure his face is red because he feels hot all of the sudden. "We made a mistake but we're ready to handle it. I'm ready to handle it."

"What are you going to do, Louis? You have no job, no money- you're not even finished with school!"

"Maybe I would have all this things if you were here! I spend all of  _my_  time doing  _your_ job." His chest heaves.

His mother takes a step closer to him, pointing her finger into his chest. "I work day and night to keep a roof over your head and clothes on your back. You know that."

"You're a liar," he sobs, and he's not quite sure when he actually started crying for real. "You're a liar."

"No I'm-"

"You spend more time with your  _fucking_  boyfriend than you do us."

"Don't you dare go there, Louis Tomlinson."

"And you know what else? I'm going to get a job and we're going to make it work. Why can't you just be supportive?"

"Because you're just like your father!" And Louis has never heard his mother yell so loudly. "You're just like him! You knock someone up too young and promise to make it work but you  _won't_. I can't believe you would be so stupid.  _Just like your father_." 

Louis backs away, shaking his head. He feels defeated. " _I_ can't believe  _you_."

"Don't make me seem like the bad guy."

"I can't believe you just said that to me." He can see the regret on her face, but it still hurts. She still said it.

"Louis, I-"

"Forget it. I'm leaving. Just like my dad, yeah?" he whimpers, and turns to leave the kitchen.

He hears his mother calling for him but he makes it out the door, slamming it behind him. And then he realizes he doesn't have a car or a mobile to call Harry.

So, as a last resort, he walks across the street and knocks on the door. He can't go to anyone who he knows personally because then he'd have to explain the situation and it's very possible he'd end up going back to his house afterward, which is the opposite of what he wants to do. So, house across the street it is. He doesn't know this neighbor very well, but discovers it's an older woman. She agrees to let him use her phone, probably because his face is red and tear-streaked and he's shaking like a leaf. He gets in the house quickly so that his mum won't see him should she come looking. 

He dials Harry's number immediately, dabbing at his eyes with a frilly napkin that he honestly feels bad about soiling, and sniffles as he waits.

Harry  immediately asks Louis what's wrong, but Louis isn't sure he can explain it fully without breaking down into tears like a baby. So he asks Harry to pick him up instead.

Harry makes it there in record time. After a quick peek out the window, Louis thanks the old woman profusely and rushes out to Harry's car. As soon as he's inside, Harry lurches over and hugs him so tightly thatit makes Louis cry all over again. He almost wonders if he's the pregnant one.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asks, and Harry nods, looking extremely concerned. "I'll tell you when we get home."

 _Home_. He lets out another sob, because he isn't sure when his house stopped feeling like  _home._

_______

"I'm so sorry, Louis." 

They're spooning, because Louis finds it's easier to talk about his father and the fight with his mother if he doesn't have to look Harry directly in the eye. But he still needs him close. His hands rest over Harry's lower stomach, right where it feels just the tiniest bit firmer than everywhere else. He supposes he should maybe feel bad or upset at himself for creating this child, but when he puts his hand there he just can't. He can't regret their little one when they're already so important to him. 

"He left when I was two. I don't even remember him. But he was never around before that anyway. My mum had me young. Maybe too young," he sniffs. "He was never a father to me. Never wanted anything to do with me. He probably forgot I even exist. I hate him and I don't eve know him, Harry.  I don't want to be like my dad. I don't w-want-" and he stops for a minute to take a deep breath. "He just left when we needed him most and nothing has been easy ever since then. I always wonder if my mum wishes I didn't exist because then it would be easier for everyone. I want to feel like I belong somewhere."

Harry is quiet for a moment. He turns around in Louis's arms wordlessly, kissing him gently before he rests their foreheads together. Louis's hands have drifted up to Harry's waist, but Harry grabs them and brings them back down to his stomach. Harry's own larger hands rest on top of them. 

"You do belong somewhere," says Harry, quiet and gentle. He look up at Louis with his green, green eyes and it's so genuine that Louis has to blink. He's so in love. He knows that he won't be like his father, because he already loves Harry more than he thinks he should. Their noses bump together. "Think you may be meant for me, Lou. Does that sound crazy?"

Louis laughs a little, because it does. It really does. 

"Regardless." Harry smiles at him through his words, presses his hands down harder. "We did that. We made them. And maybe it's not the best timing, but that doesn't make it any less beautiful." Louis blushes. 

"I know."

"And of course you're not like your dad. You're... Louis. My Louis. And I love you very much."


	16. seven weeks - jan 15

"I don't even know what size I am anymore," Harry whines, putting his hands on his hips and leaning backward to make his (still very nonexistent) bump stand out more. He's milking this pregnancy thing for all its worth, Louis thinks, but it's sort of endearing. They're out shopping for clothes for Harry, because apparently he doesn't have nearly enough, and Harry has a very certain style in mind today.

Skirts. A lot of them.

And Louis is proud of Harry for having the confidence to come out in a public setting and shop for what people typically think of as  _female_ clothes, he is. But he doesn't have it, and he's looking over his shoulder every two seconds for no apparent reason. He doesn't want to get confronted, but he's not sure who would say anything anyway or cause any real harm - maybe a religious MMA fighter?

He usually doesn't try them on, he says, not in the store - but today he insists because he thinks he's gained 'baby weight' and needs to be certain that they fit before he buys them. Whatever. Louis is planning on making him take in some pants too, because Harry probably won't want to attempt wearing short skirts when he's past his first trimester.

"Probably the same as you were before, Hazza," says Louis. Harry glares at him, shoving another article of clothing into the massive pile that Louis is carrying for him. "You know you can only take in so many items with you at once?"

"Yes," Harry huffs, "I'll rotate through the pile, obviously

They're going to die in this store, aren't they? "Do you really have to try all of them on? If they're all the same size and one fits then the rest probably will-"

"That's not how it works, Lou!" Harry shakes his head, his back to Louis as he rummages through some hair accessories, "different brands make their clothes slightly different sizes. And different styles can change how it fits. It's like you've never worn clothes before."

Louis bites his tongue (and his sass) because he values his face the way it is, thank you, and takes the headband Harry throws at him silently. The store is mostly empty because it's a school night - and Louis has been wearing Harry's clothes because he refuses to go home - except for the woman working the check out and a mother with her daughter across the store. They're planning to stop by Harry's mother's bakery, because she and Gemma are still working the late shift, and then going to eat at a restaurant downtown.

Louis doesn't think he'd mind living with Harry forever, actually.

He's also nervous because he's going to be the one driving to the bakery, which isn't completely legal, but Harry insists that he needs "real world practice" before he goes and takes his test officially.  _Louis_ thinks that Harry is trying to get them - all  _three_ of them - killed before they even leave the car park, but that's apparently an unpopular opinion.

Harry drags him back to the changing rooms after a few more minutes of bickering, in which Harry informs Louis that he is 'lacking a fashion sense' ( _"Oh, is_ that  _why you let me impregnate you?"_ ) and he takes a seat on the bench with Harry's mound of clothes. He may be exaggerating a bit, but Harry already has a closet full of outfits and Louis has no idea what inspired him to get more; he would protest, but he is unfortunately very in love with Harry and all of his little quirks.

He also needs to get a gift for Harry's birthday, shit. He'll think of something pregnancy-related, because it's all Harry can focus on these days. Louis briefly wonders when his fascination will ever subdue, if ever, and comes to the conclusion that he doesn't want it to. Harry is very cute when he's talking to his stomach (even if the baby can't hear him) and when he picks out color schemes for a nursery (that they don't even need or have planned yet).

After Harry pulls the curtain across, Louis hears humming and the sound of zippers being undone. Harry stumbles around a bit, banging into the wall, and Louis closes his eyes and smiles because he's so, so gone for him. When he re-opens them, he notices a crack between the edge of the stall and the curtain. He can see Harry through it, kind of, and realizes with a pang that he's staring at Harry while he's naked. Well.

Harry's pretty much still the same physically, no matter what he says, and Louis takes a moment to admire him. His back is to Louis, so he has a very  _lovely_ view of Harry's cute bum and long, _long_  legs that drew Louis to him in the first place. He also has a heart doodled on the small his back, courtesy of Louis himself, and his smile widens at the sight of it. He and Harry were doing a project the night before, and shirtless boys and markers somehow ended up in a doodle fight. Louis has a penis on the inside of his wrist (very appropriate), a smiley face on his collarbone, and an  _H_  over his heart.

_"Hazza," he'd said, smiling to himself; Harry tangled his fingers in Louis's hair and climbed on his lap for a snog afterwards, but Louis stopped him before he could to draw an L on Harry's stomach, right where their baby was (according to Harry). Harry followed up immediately and drew a second H, but instead of drawing it on Louis, he drew it on himself right next to Louis's L. Louis cocked a brow at him._

_"You're such a fucking sap." Louis rolled his eyes, but he had to bite his lower lip to keep from crying, actually._

He's about to open his mouth to tell Harry something when the curtain is ripped back and Harry is standing there in a dress, looking absolutely fantastic, and his words die in his throat. Louis is not sure when Harry grabbed a dress that clings to him like a second layer of skin without him noticing, but he is certainly glad that he did.

Noticing Louis's bulging eyes, Harry takes a little step back. "Do you like it?"

"I-" Louis really should be used to Harry looking incredible at this point, because he wears skirts and dresses nearly every day to school, but he's still at a loss for words. "I love it."

Harry's smile is almost blinding. "Really? 'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to pull it off. After Baby Bean is born, I'll have all the baby weight-"

"Can you not worry about the baby weight for one moment?" Louis teases, standing and taking a step so that he's close enough to Harry to kiss him. Which he does. Harry's hands go to his hair like they're magnetized and Louis's go to Harry's hips, which is becoming a routine for them, and Harry backs them into the changing stall until his back hits the wall. He  _knows_  what he does to Louis, the little shit.

They go at each other like that for a good five minutes until a throat is cleared from behind them. Louis himself is pretty content with grinding into Harry against a wall with  _Harry's_ leg around his waist and  _Harry's_ tongue in his mouth while  _Harry_ whimpers and everything being HarryHarryHarry, actually, but the woman who's working there politely asks them to stop. And Harry is a sucker for manners, so he shoves Louis out of the stall with a wink and goes about his business.

Louis glares at his boner for the rest of the trip.

__________

They make it to the bakery alive, thankfully, and Harry kisses Louis on the cheek as a reward, patting the (still present) bulge in Louis's jeans. Whatever. He'll make up for it when they get back to the house.

At the restaurant, Harry and Louis sit together on one side of the booth while Gemma and Anne take the other. Harry decides to sit on the inside because he wants to be close to the window, for some reason, so Louis slides in next to him and puts an arm around Harry's shoulder without thinking. Gemma rolls her eyes at them and holds her menu up so that she can't see them anymore.

Harry opens a menu and sets it on the table in front of the two of them idly, resting his head on Louis's shoulder, and his tongue pokes out as he reads.

"What does Peanut want today?" Louis asks, and he's mostly kidding.

Harry purses his lips. "Lasagna, I think. It's the only thing on here that I know has garlic in it. I want garlic. A lot of garlic."

"No," Gemma groans, "Pregnancy means gas and garlic means sm-"

"Shut up," Harry bites, glaring. Anne ignores the both of them, slipping her glasses on and browsing through her menu casually.

"Maybe you should eat a nice, odor-free salad."

"Maybe you should shove a salad up your-"

"I think I'll have the stuffed chicken," Louis interrupts, trying to keep the peace. It doesn't work, because Harry obviously kicks Gemma under the table and cackles when she flinches. Louis frowns, "Hazza."

"What?" says Harry, feigning innocence as he nuzzles into Louis's side. Gemma's glare is so heated that Louis is genuinely surprised when lasers don't beam from her eyes and burn them both to death.

He glances away from her and down to Harry, who's blinking up at him softly. "Be nice."

"Yeah," Gemma hisses. Harry sticks his tongue out in response.

"Is this what having children is like?" wonders Louis aloud, dodging Harry's elbow to the side with a smirk. Anne sets her menu down and sips from her water, placing a hand on Gemma's arm with a knowing expression. Gemma slinks back behind her menu.

Harry sniffs, burrowing further into Louis. "We're going to become one if you keep doing that, love."

Harry smirks, "Wouldn't be the first time we've  _become one_."

"I honestly hate you," Gemma says.

"If you stop, I'll buy dessert," Anne chimes in, folding her hands over the table as Gemma and Harry both fall silent. Louis stares at her in awe. She smiles back at him, waving a hand. "Years of practice and experience."

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Harry playing with the string on Louis's hoodie - which is actually Harry's - until the waitress comes by with a smile. "What can I get for you this evening?"

"A new brother," Gemma mutters.

"Lasagna," Harry blurts, ever so gracefully, staring up at the waitress with mass amounts of seriousness. "But with all the garlic you can legally put in it. A lot of garlic. Can I have a side of garlic bread too? Maybe two pieces? Three? And garlic dipping sauce of some sort? Like, can you just quadruple the amount of garlic you usually add in the lasagna as well?" The waitress writes this down, looking very confused, and Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm pregnant." Louis clamps a hand over Harry's mouth before he can say anything else, which earns him a lick to his hand and a glare.

"You can just bring the normal lasagna," he assures the distressed waitress. Harry bites his palm.

After Louis orders his stuffed chicken with a side of mashed potatoes and  _garlic_  buttered corn - per Harry's request - Anne orders a caesar salad and Gemma a burger, the waitress walks away and Louis finally removes his hand from Harry's mouth.

"Your hand tastes like soap," Harry informs him, wrinkling his nose. Louis can't help but kiss the tip of it, really.

"I love you," Louis mutters.

Harry's smile makes a reappearance, dimples caving in his cheeks. "I love you."

__________

When they arrive back at Harry's house, there's a car waiting for them already.

Louis squints as he climbs out of the car, trying to make out the license plate numbers in the dark - that is, until the driver's side door opens and a person steps out. He freezes, eyes widening and panic rising in his gut.

"Mum?" he coughs, "I... what are you doing here?" She looks guilty and as uncomfortable as Louis is, especially once Harry, Gemma, and Anne climb out of as well.

"I was waiting for you to get back; I knocked on the door, but no one answered," she says, looking at her feet.

"Why?"

"Come home, Louis."

Harry walks up behind him and grabs Louis's hand almost protectively. "He _is_  home."

Jay's eyes flick over to Harry, and Louis is ready to pounce if she so much as  _looks_ at Harry the wrong way- wait, what? "It's lovely to see you again, Harry. You're... glowing." Harry glares at her, moving to stand behind Louis like a kitten.

"Why did you say it, Mum?

Jay shakes her head for a few moments before she responds. "I was eighteen, Lou. Eighteen and pregnant and your dad had no job, no money- neither of us did." She looks up at Louis. "I will never regret that we were together because it gave me you, but you have to understand that it was probably the lowest point of my life, after your father left. We struggled for so long and we barely made it by as it was, and once he was gone..."

"I know... I know the situation brings you back to that, but I am not my father. And neither is Harry. I love him."

"I know you do, baby," she sniffs, and he feels even worse for making her cry. "And I'm just so sorry. You don't have to forgive me right now, but please,  _please_ come home."

Louis bites his lip. If he stays, he's going to upset her further. If he leaves with her, they may end up fighting again, but he can't live with Harry forever. Not right now. They have to discuss things and he misses his sisters a lot, if he's being honest.

So, it's with a heavy heart and a lot of hesitation that he turns and kisses Harry goodbye, noses bumping together in a silent  _I love you,_ and he awkwardly follows his mum to her car. The ride back is awkward and silent, so Louis chooses to stare out the window intently until they get home. Whe they do, he follows his mother inside and plops down on the sofa next to her.

"First off, don't you ever run off like that again, Louis Tomlinson," she breathes, leaning forward and crushing Louis into a hug. He wants to be mad, he does, but she's his mother and he loves her, so he hugs back after a few moment's hesitation. "'m sorry if I scared you, Mummy."

She sighs. "I'm so sorry, Boo. I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it. I was worried sick, baby, and I'd figured you'd gone to Harry's so I just decided to check there. After I gave you time to cool off."

"I'm... not going to say it's okay, because it isn't. But I forgive you, I think. Maybe."

She pulls back, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, "I understand. Thank you, Boo, for everything. I don't thank you nearly enough." Louis blushes, but she isn't finished. "I have something to tell you, actually. I was going to tell you when I got home the other night but I obviously didn't get around to it."

Louis cocks a brow. "Oh?"

"It's good news, I promise!"

"Alright?"

"It's, well. It's about uni."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Mum-" he begins, but she cuts him off with a smile.

"That's the thing. I've been putting money aside every week for the past few years and... I applied for financial aid. We got approved, Lou. Now with Dan's help too I think, I think we can afford to send you."

Louis blanches. "Are you serious right now?"

"Completely."

"Mum!" He throws his arms around her, pulling her into a hug so tight that he hears her breath hitch a little, "I can't believe- you're serious? Uni? I could go? For real?"

"Well, it's very very real possibility, yes."

He laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. "I can't wait to tell Ha- wait." Jay tilts her head at him questioningly. "I'd have to leave Harry."

"No you wouldn't, you could go somewhere local."

Louis shakes his head. "But Harry will start school and someone will have to be there for the baby, especially the first few months."

"You could hire a sitter."

"I don't want him to be alone during that time. Plus, there's nowhere in this town to go, really. All the good schools are outside of this tiny area. I'd have to move out, too, eventually, and I can't take Harry with me until he graduates. And then what?"

She purses her lips. "But you could get a much better job, Lou. I think it'd be better for you in the long run."

"I... don't know."

"Why don't you think about it? Talk to him, make a decision soon. You don't exactly have much time."

He can't leave Harry, but he needs a good job if he's ever going to provide for their little family financially. He can't flip burgers forever. He can only imagine what Harry will say - he'll be enthusiastic and encouraging, but he doesn't want to leave Harry alone in a time of need.

He doesn't want to be like his father. 

 

 

 

 


	17. jan 22 - eight weeks

****

It's been about a week since Louis's small tussle with his mother, which he's slowly gotten over, and he still has yet to tell Harry about the possibility of going away for school. He's decided to weigh out all his options and even - to his utter horror - speak with a guidance counselor before he makes a decision. So he doesn't tell Harry, because he knows exactly how he'll react and knows exactly how Louis will act as a result. It's better this way, he thinks, especially since they're so focused on their child as of lately. Well, as of the moment Louis found out Harry was pregnant.

They're currently at the doctor's office, Harry on an exam table with his head propped up and hands on his stomach, and they're waiting for Cathy to show up. Louis is sat in a chair next to Harry, who’s tracing patterns onto Louis’s palm as his hand rests near him, and is bouncing his knees to a silent beat. He admittedly always feels anxious when they mention or visit the doctor, because they’re still in the first trimester and he knows well enough what could go wrong. They could lose everything so easily. They could lose the life they made, and it’s below the very last thing he wants to hear Cathy tell them. He keeps this fear to himself, of course, because he doesn’t want to worry Harry.

It feels like he spends a lot of time keeping things from Harry.

Two knocks sound on the other side of the door, and both boys jerk their heads up just as Cathy enters the room. She positively beams at them, especially when she seems their interlaced fingers and Harry’s free hand on his abdomen. “Ready to see Little One?”

Harry blanches. “Huh?”

“Did I forget to tell you? Silly me!” she laughs, plopping down in a chair on wheels and scooting over to the pair. She’s putting on gloves before Louis even realizes what’s fully happening. “We’re doing an ultrasound today.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” Louis asks. He’s been with his mum to several appointments throughout her pregnancies, especially when he was younger and had no one else to take care of him – he likes to think he’s a legitimate Master of Pregnancies by now.

“It depends on the pregnancy,” she explains, flicking on a monitor with her elbow and rustling around for something, “but Harry here is young and a male, and it’s his very first time carrying a child. His pregnancy is far riskier than that of a fully grown female, so we’ll be doing ours earlier than most just to be safe. We want to keep baby and daddy happy and healthy, of course, so today we’ll be checking for a heartbeat as well as checking for numbers.”

“Numbers?” It’s Louis’s turn to gasp.

She smiles again, nodding toward Harry. “Lift your shirt up, love. It’s going to be cold.”

Harry looks a little hesitant as he pushes his jumper and t-shirt up – both of which are Louis’s, because he insisted on snatching a few last time he stopped by Louis’s place – and rests his hand that was previously on his stomach over his chest. Louis’s grip on Harry’s other hand tightens as he strokes his thumb over the skin of Harry’s thumb as comfortingly as he can. He knows how important the entire situation is to Harry. It is to him as well, of course, but he also has noticed that Harry feels personally responsible for everything that happens inside of him. He blames his morning sickness on poor eating habits and his frequent urge to pee on “ _how_ _often I sit on my bum, Lou_ ,” and his sore muscles on his lack of _proper stretching._ Louis thinks he’s full of shit, but he wisely decides to keep this opinion to himself and kiss Harry quiet instead.

 _“I need to do yoga, Louis. Will you do yoga with me?” Harry had stressed, fluttering around the room and organizing the small amount of baby supplies that he’d collected. He’s gotten some stuffed animals and a few tiny books, because he insists that reading to their child from day one is of utmost importance, as well as a music box. (“Classical music makes them smarter, Lou. I read it in my book.”)_ _He was still shirtless after a lazy fuck on his bed, which Louis had very much enjoyed, but now a pair of yoga pants hung low on his hips. Louis watched him from his position under the duvet as he pushed messy fringe from his face._

_“I’d be horrible at yoga, babe.”_

_“Please,” Harry whined, whirling to look at Louis with a pout etched across his entire face. “I don’t want to do it alone, I need help.”_

_He cracked in an embarrassingly short amount of time. “Okay, love. We can do yoga.”_

_Harry clapped approvingly, smile stretching all the way to his dimples that Louis loves so much, and swayed in his spot. “I’ve been looking up some great moves for the first trimester.”_

_“That exists?” Louis groaned, flopping back. “How about I just help you get into the position?”_

_“No way. We can get fit together!”_

_“Hazza,” he drawled, holding it until he was out of breath. Just to exaggerate his obvious misery, of course._

_There was a beat of silence. “We could do it in here. Like, y’know, on a mat. It’ll help me stay flexible.”_

_“So?”_

_“_ So _, I’ll be able to ride you like a champ.”_

_Needless to say, Louis was immediately was on board with yoga and participated as actively as possible in their first session._

Harry winces a bit as soon as the gel touches his skin. “Do you keep this stuff in a freezer?”

Cathy laughs again, loud and bright, and Louis wonders why she’s always so damn cheerful all the time. “No. The rooms here are just a bit cold, see – the gel is water based, so it adjusts to the room’s temperature and feels cold on your warm skin.”

“Oh.” Harry nods, seemingly genuinely interested, “Can we heat it up next time, please?”

“I’m afraid not, love. It’s highly discouraged.”

“Hmph.” Harry purses his lips but stops quickly when he realizes that his pouting won’t have the same effect on Cathy as it does Louis. Louis has to fight the urge to roll his eyes extremely hard, but it doesn’t put a damper on his fondness in the slightest. What a dork he’s got on his hands, honestly.

Cathy rubs the gel on Harry’s stomach in a very perfunctory manner and grabs a wand without blinking. “Ready?” Harry nods eagerly, practically squeezing the life out of Louis’s hand. He’s nearly bouncing as the wand touches his skin, and Louis opens his mouth to tease him until he hears it.

“Oh, God,” is the only pathetic response he can come up with at the sound the echoes from the monitor. He feels his eyes widen to the size of saucers. Harry’s hand has gone slack. “Is that-“

“Yes.”                  

“Oh,” Harry breathes, chest heaving, “I can’t- but-“

Louis swallows around an irritatingly large lump in his throat. He will not cry. He will not cry. “Holy shit, Hazza.”

“There’s _two,”_ Harry exclaims, and his grip goes from nothing to vice-like in half a second. “Why is there two?” he asks frantically, and Louis closes his eyes. Two.

“Twins! How exciting!” Cathy crows, and Louis assumes that she’s smiling again. He keeps his eyes clenched shut for a moment longer, because he’s instantly overwhelmed by sensations. Tingles run up and down his spine. He has a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach; it’s fluttery and sinking at the same time, like he’s gone over the dip of a rollercoaster – he can’t find a word to describe it. There’s _two_ little heartbeats thudding softly and fuzzy images on the screen, but he can’t see them properly because he’s tearing up like a proper sap. Harry sniffles next to him. It’s beginning to sink in fully, he thinks, and it begins to truly and completely process. They made new lives. Two of what will soon be little people are inside of Harry. He helped do that, oh _God._

“Twins,” Harry whimpers, tears flowing unabashedly down his cheeks – which doesn’t surprise Louis, because Harry’s been a crier since the first day – but it doesn’t stop him from leaning across and kissing Harry on the nose. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Cathy clears her throat. “If you look here, you can see-“ she points to the monitor, “I believe you’ll be able to identify Baby A and Baby B.” And she’s not lying, because Louis can clearly see two little separate little blobs on the screen just as obviously as he can hear the heartbeats. Two.

“Do we know the genders?” Harry blurts, and Louis laughs wetly.

“No, baby, ‘s too early for that.” Harry sulks, wiping more tears from his reddened eyes. Cathy nods.

“That doesn’t come until your second trimester. Week sixteen or seventeen at the very least. Even then it depends on how the babies are situated-“ Harry sniffles again at the word _babies,_ “I can’t promise any specific dates. We can only see if they’re cooperating, loves.”

“Can we have a picture, at least?” Harry all but begs, releasing Louis’s hand to place both of his on top of Cathy’s as he looks at her pleadingly, eyes wide and lower lip poking out. Cathy chuckles – yet again, Louis notes with an eye roll – at his gesture.

“Of course. I’ll grab those for you,” she assures him, slipping her hands away and wiping the remnants of the gel from Harry’s skin. He smiles again, wide and genuine, and Louis’s heart threatens to legitimately burst. He’s so incredibly smitten, he thinks, especially when Harry is happy. He fills the room with his energy and his light without even trying and makes Louis feel like a balloon filled with sunshine, or something. His smile makes Louis want to write sonnets and his laugh makes him want to compose music – Harry could easily be his muse. He’s a work of art in motion and he doesn’t even realize or fully appreciate it.

“I love you,” Louis blurts, staring at the side of Harry’s face like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. Harry turns to him, blush creeping up on his smiley cheeks, and bites his lip.

“I love you, Lou.” He laces their fingers together again, eyes still shimmering, and raises Louis’s hand to his mouth. He kisses Louis’s pinky, eyes locked on his face. “Pinky promise we’ll be together forever?”

Louis barks out a laugh at that. “Pinky promise? Really?”

“Hey,” Harry drawls.

Louis shakes his head, smiling so wide that he can actually feel the skin by his eyes crinkling. “Fine, pinky promise. Do you pinky promise to stay with me as well? Don’t think I’d ever want anyone else.”

“Yes, of course. Always.” Louis’s heart does a backflip.

They go home to Harry’s with ultrasound pictures that Harry immediately shows off to both his mum and Gemma, who coo (and hide their obvious concern about how the _hell_ Harry and Louis are going to handle _twins_ behind their smiles) and Anne even offers to have them framed. Harry gives one to Louis, of course, who tucks it in the pocket of his wallet and feels like a proper father when he shows it to his own mother later on. She’s still skeptical about the entire pregnancy thing, he knows, but he appreciates the amount of effort she’s trying to put into their relationship as well as her life at home. Things are starting to get as great as he thinks they possibly can be, really.

Until he realizes that two children means more expenses. He doesn’t really have a choice – if he’s in this for the long run, which he is, he needs to have a good job guaranteed.

There’s no room for taking risks.

 


	18. eleven weeks - feb. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i finished this a few days ago, but again i forgot to post it on here im sorry

The dilemma arises on a particularly special Tuesday, which is probably the most important Tuesday of Louis’ life, but he decides to keep it to himself for the time being.

It’s not a decision that’s going to affect them immediately, after all, because it’s still months away, but every day that passes makes him feel increasingly guilty for keeping it a secret.

He’s going to uni come next fall, officially now, which should be great news. It really should be. He’s barely been scooting by with reasonable grades and by some stroke of magic, he’s suddenly able to afford it as well. The entire planet seems to be working to make Louis’ life The Very Best Ever, what with his mum’s engagement and his future brightening (and the surely amazing person that Harry is currently holding hostage inside of him) - the only downside is that he has to move. To Liverpool.

He supposes he could take courses online, but he wants a proper university experience and there’s no room for falling behind or taking any sort of chance, according to his mother; she seems to be stuck on the fact that it’s something Louis’ dreamed of for years and, despite his protests, insists that he should take Harry with.

The problem with this, of course, is the fact that Harry might not want to leave. Louis can’t expect him to uproot his entire life more than he already has and move away, much less start a new school for only one year. The price is something he hasn’t even entertained the thought of, because he’s barely going to be able to live on his own. A summer job and something part time come fall is his best hope. He has very little savings, after all, and he still has to find a way to try to provide for his child- _children_. And his young boyfriend.

If Harry didn’t have to continue sixth form for another year, no problem would present itself. They could move together and Harry could even take classes too, if he wanted, and they could raise their child together on the salaries they’d make from odd jobs throughout the years. Louis can imagine a nice, quaint flat downtown with a window seat for Harry and an extra bedroom for them to paint murals in and fill with baby supplies. They could move the day after Louis’ graduation, even, could pack up and leave that very night. They could make it work.

Things are complicating and it’s giving Louis a mind-blowingly stubborn headache.

He also wonders if he could ring up his mates and find out what their plans are as well. Getting back in contact with them is near the top of his list of priorities. Liverpool is less than an hour away, he knows, but the commute feels a whole lot longer when half of his heart lives on the other side.

The previous Saturday had been the day that Louis’ mind was made up for certain – after a brief tour of his future campus – and his application had been submitted before he could even blink. There’s no guarantee that he’ll get accepted, of course, especially with such a time crunch and the fact that he spent most of his school career in the past year or so thinking that there was nothing left for him after graduation day. Brilliant.

And there’s no need to tell Harry until he’s certain he’s going, right? Yeah. He can do that. There’s no point in getting Harry worked up over something that’s probably not even going to happen.

Of course, this thought process opens an entirely new can of worms. He has absolutely no idea what to do if he doesn’t get accepted to at least one school – Liverpool is his first choice, of course, for locational purposes – and that scares him even more than the thought of moving is.

A child is a beautiful thing, but Louis reckons that it sure does create a lot of stress.

___________

“So, Peanuts aren’t such peanuts anymore,” Harry announces, patting his stomach – he’s got a little bump now, one that Louis can actually sort of kind of see, but Harry is partially convinced that he’s lying just to make Harry happy – with the utmost of care. “They’re like little figs. Or limes.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “But Figs or Limes isn’t as cute as Peanuts.”

“My book says that morning sickness will be over soon,” he hums, ignoring Louis completely. He’s got a stupidly cute look on his face – pursed lips, furrowed brow, the lot – with his book in one hand and his free one tracing hearts on his abdomen. Harry is more in love with his pregnancy than he is with Louis, probably. He sighs contentedly, like he’s the happiest person in the world, “I can’t wait until the second trimester.”

“Why’s that?” Harry’s head is in Louis’s lap while Louis is propped up against the wall; they’ve taken to Louis’ room, which is incredibly messy and unfortunately lacking any sort of clean surface for them to sit on, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. Louis tries to ignore the pile of homework he has yet to complete – and now actually has to worry about doing well on – in favor of carding his fingers through Harry’s hair, which is softer than ever, and trying to get a glimpse of his eyes from under the thick cover of his book. It’s truly a sight.

The book is lowered until it rests on Harry’s chest. Harry reaches both of his hands up and places them on each of Louis’ cheeks ( _damn long limbed giraffe,_ Louis scoffs) with a smile. “We get to find out the genders,” says Harry, dimples and all, “I really want a boy and a girl. One of each.”

“Do you?” Louis hums as the movement of his own hands refuse to cease their quest to successfully touch every single strand of hair on Harry’s head, which earns him a pout. “I think I’d be okay with any combination. Boy and boy. Girl and girl. Boy and girl. They’ll be perfect either way.”

“But if we had one of each then we would get the best of both worlds,” bemoans Harry, dropping his hands back onto his chest. They thwack against the cover of the book cacophonously, which startles Harry (even though he is the source of the noise, the dolt) into flinching and accidentally elbowing Louis in the crotch. Hard.

“Umf,” Louis groans, clenching his eyes shut. Despite the small amount of weight he’s gained, Harry’s elbows are still bony and Louis isn’t particularly fond of unwanted pressure on his dick, actually. Instead of apologizing, however, Harry promptly bursts into giggles.

“Oops,” he says, and Louis tries his very hardest to manifest his pain across his face. Harry’s body still shakes with the laughter that he’s trying to conceal now, at least, and Louis is so in love.

“You’re such a menace,” Louis sighs. Harry smiles back up at him brilliantly, because he knows Louis’ biggest vice is falling for his dimples. It’s not _his_ fault that they’re literally deep enough to swim in.

Harry clicks his tongue. “Soon you’ll have two more to deal with.”

“Don’t remind me.” He’s so full of shit.

He gets a hum in response and feels Harry’s bones digging into him all over as Harry shifts upward, resting his palms on the floor behind him as he sits next to Louis’s crossed legs. With a purse of his lips, Harry stands and stretches out. Louis fights back a groan. Harry standing up is never a good sign.

“What now?” he asks, blinking up at Harry. Harry offers his hand and, with an amicable grin, waggles his eyebrows. “I want to go outside,” Harry says. “And pelt you with snowballs.”

Louis gasps, placing a hand over his chest delicately. “Harold. What happened to my kind, sweet, ingenuous boyfriend?”

“ _Ingenuous_? What happened to _my_ boyfriend? Have you swallowed an entire dictionary?”

A heated blush creeps up Louis’ cheeks. “No. I just. Studied some words, that’s all.”

“Could you teach me? I’m having a hard time extending my vocabulary,” Harry complains, plopping himself down unceremoniously on the edge of Louis’ bed now. It’s true that his energy lights the space up – but physically he takes up the entire room physically as well. Louis is used to the tiny space, which is more than his sisters have to share, honestly, but Harry is unnecessarily tall and lanky and Jesus, is Louis ready to see his bump grow. He’s certain Harry’ll look like a voluptuous tree. Exciting.

Louis realizes he should probably answer, especially when Harry throws a pillow at his head. “Uhm. Daunting.”

“Already know that one.”

“Empathetic?”

“C’mon, Lou. Everyone knows that. Step up your game,” snorts Harry, pitch of his voice growing more strained as he lays backward and hangs half off the bed. His torso dangles over the side and Louis is partially concerned he’ll fall on his head – knowing Harry, this would not stop him and he’d probably climb back up and resume his actions anyway, so he decides not to say anything about it. Despite Harry’s continuous banter, he really is infatuated with him. He thinks that Harry could give him the cold shoulder for three weeks and Louis’d still be sighing over his curls and twirling them around his fingertips. This is concerning, because Harry is a boy that Louis hasn’t known for too terribly long and he really shouldn’t feel this attached to someone who can barely remember how to tie his own shoelaces every morning, but for some reason he is. Harry prefers flats anyway.

Which, while Louis is thinking of it, brings him to marvel over Harry’s current outfit. He’s wearing a nice big sweater that looks like it’s about nine sizes too big, or something, and Louis would love to steal it and bury himself in it if he can. Harry’s also wearing leggings, which does wonders for his crotch, and some of Anne’s fuzzy purple socks because he dislikes the wood of Louis’ bedroom floors so much that he has to make an obvious effort to keep his feet warm. His hair is a right mess and he’s told Louis a million times that he’ll _get it cut soon, really, he will_ – it hasn’t happened yet – but he was wearing a beanie when he turned up and neither of them are really sure what happened to it. It’s possible it may be under the bed. Or down Louis’ trousers.

Louis, on the other hand, is feeling rather drab in comparison. He feels like he wears jeans and a shirt every single day of his life. He can see himself on his wedding day wearing jeans and a t-shirt – maybe a blazer, if he’s feeling extra spontaneous – but he likes to think that, could they afford it, he’s be a style aficionado of some sort. This is largely untrue, mostly because Louis has no idea what any article of clothing is called, but it seems to resonate well with Harry. Someday he’ll be rich and spoil Harry rotten, maybe; buy him diamond jewels and every other commodity he could possibly want, but first he actually has to make it out of school and maybe figure out if he’s any good at this Fathering Thing before he decides on his master plan for ultimately taking over the world.

He also gets sidetracked very easily.

Harry’s face is getting red from hanging, so Louis scoots over and pushes him up gently by the shoulders. He tuts at Harry’s pout with a, “Don’t look at me like that,” and a poke to Harry’s nose.

“I was having fun,” Harry whines.

“Didn’t I just say to stop looking at me like that?” Louis immediately backtracks and is prepared to apologize for how demanding his words had come off as, but the pout drops from Harry’s face on its own.

“Yes, sir,” he says.

 Louis rolls his eyes. “Are you horny again?”

______________

Zayn is coming over.

It’s exciting, because Louis misses Zayn a lot, so they’d set up a special get together for just the two of them to meet up. Louis can drive now – albeit very dangerously and horribly – but still opts for walking to the park that’s not too far from his house. Meeting up in a public setting was nice, because they could talk without four small girls pestering them, and Louis also quite enjoys the February air. It’s brisk and clean feeling, which is a welcome change from the usual mugginess of the area, and the remains of melting snow make the grass and bare tree limbs sparkle. His hat is tugged over his ears and keeps him safe from the biting wind, but he can still feel the tip of his nose pinkening as he makes his way to the playground equipment.

Zayn is sitting on a swing, typing away at his mobile, and he looks very out of place amongst the screaming children and dogs running around in the field behind him. He doesn’t notice Louis approaching until the swing next to him creaks under Louis’ weight.

“Hi,” Louis says, smiling to himself as Zayn puts away his phone and turns his upper body to face Louis to the best of his ability.

“Heya, Lou,” he responds, gripping the chain tighter beneath his gloved hands and pushing against the ground with his feet. The swings are old and make a lot of noise when he starts to move, which makes Louis nervous, but he seems like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “How’re you?”

“I’m great.” He deadpans, realizing that Zayn doesn’t know about his impending fatherhood. Telling him now doesn’t seem like the most appropriate thing to do, because then this visit will become all about Harry and the babies – which Louis doesn’t mind at all, but he hopes they can focus on their friendship instead, just for today – but if he waits he risks upsetting Zayn for keeping it a secret. The former is the option he goes with. Zayn can wait a few more weeks.

“So, why’d you want to meet up here?” Zayn asks, and Louis thinks that’s an excellent question.

“Dunno. It’s just a nice place, don’t you think?” He leaves out the amount of times he’s been here with Harry.

“I suppose,” is the answer he receives, along with a, “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, it is, but I really think we need to talk and I wanted to do it somewhere we wouldn’t be interrupted. You know how the girls are,” Louis mutters, averting his gaze to the ground. Zayn stops swinging and, when he comes to a halt, lets out a sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I…” Louis trails off. He doesn’t know where to begin.”

“I’m really sorry, Louis,” Zayn begins, but Louis cuts him off almost immediately. He’s been preparing what he wants to say for years, after all.

“I know you are. But you should know that I can never truly say it’s okay. Because it wasn’t.”

“I honestly… well, it’s rich coming from me, innit? I was just as confused as you were, I think, but taking advantage of that confusion was wrong and. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Louis exhales through his nose. “It’s whatever. In the past. I’m over it.”

“I’m glad you have Harry, though. I like him. Think he’s… good for you,” Zayn coughs, sounding like he’s struggling to get out the words – this makes Louis feel a variety of emotions. “Look, Louis. I know what I did was wrong, but I think that, had that not happened, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now in the position that you are.”

“You may be right,” he admits. “I mean, any feelings I may have had for you are completely gone. Know that. But, I think liking Harry would have been a whole lot scarier if we hadn’t… had our thing. But that doesn’t change how it ended and I appreciate you apologizing, I do, especially because at the time I was too caught up in the moment to realize that I wasn’t ready. I was so gone for you. In fact, if you hadn’t tried to kiss me under that goddamned apple tree, I might have let you actually do it.”

Zayn barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Well. It was a dick move. What a horrible first kiss that would’ve been.”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, internally battling his own thoughts. He doesn’t want to upset Zayn when he’s making an effort to apologize to Louis, but he really can’t help it. “Harry was my first… everything.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you’re glad you waited it out, then.”

There’s a certain amount of tension between the two of them, and there has been ever since Louis’ move from Doncaster. Louis doesn’t like to reminisce in the past, but he can’t deny the fact that their history has affected their friendship more than he cares to admit.

They had been young and naïve, after all, probably too stupid to even realize what love is, but at the time Louis knows that it somehow felt like Zayn was The One, or something, and that he’d ever like anyone else for the rest of his life – and finding out those feelings were mutual should have been the best day ever, but it wasn’t. Because when Zayn leaned in, all that Louis felt was panic and, after pushing him away, things stopped feeling so magical.

The reality was that he had almost just snogged his best mate who he felt weird things for, truly, but he’s glad he stopped it. He never felt the intense amount of attraction and fondness for Zayn as he does for Harry. He never felt the amount of physical attraction either. He never wanted to wake up every morning next to Zayn, never wanted to spend every waking moment with him – but maybe it’s not fair to compare those feelings to his relationship with Harry. Harry is a rarity and Louis is so, so lucky to call him his.

He’s not glad about the fight and angry words that followed, however.

“It is what it is,” Louis says aloud, “I’m at fault too. Probably shouldn’t have lead you on so strongly if I knew I wasn’t ready for that big of a leap. We were kids.”

“We still are kids,” Zayn jokes. “Well, not really.”

Louis shakes his head, chuckling, “We may not be legally, but I sure as hell don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one does,” Zayn says after a beat. He shifts, pulling something from his pocket. “Cig?”

Louis looks over just in time to see the pack. He shakes his head. “No thanks.”

“You sure?” Zayn prompts, sliding it back into his pocket with a shrug, “Suit yourself. I find that it’s a great stress reliever.”

“No, I’m good. Harry would skin me and proceed to pump me full of healthy things to reverse the effects, or something.”

Instead of laughing like Louis had expected, Zayn’s swing creaks some more. “How is Harry, anyway?”

Louis hesitates. “He’s good.”

“Just good?” It’s possible that Zayn is a mind reader or something, Louis thinks. Not telling him now would be stupid, because he’s practically prompting him and Louis really can’t think of a logical excuse not to at this point. He’s a pretty terrible liar anyway.

“He’s… yeah. He’s pregnant, actually,” he tries to say as casually as possible, staring at his knees like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. A very awkward and heavy period of silence follows before Zayn responds, and when he does, Louis can sense the discontent beneath his tone.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” continues Louis, “I’m the father, um, if you were wondering. It obviously wasn’t planned, but he’s like some sort of superhuman and managed to great pregnant like, on the first try.” He’s making a proper fool of himself, but his mouth doesn’t seem to know how to close. “Twins, actually. It’s crazy. We really need to sit down and talk it all out, decide what we’re going to do realistically and try to settle down a bit.”

“I never thought you were the type.”

“Hm?”

“To end up in this position.” Zayn shrugs, and despite the hinted meaning behind his words, Louis detects no trace of judgement or anger in his tone. He’s just being honest. Just being Zayn. “I mean, you’re always so worried about everything. Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“Should it?” Louis asks.

“Having a kid is a huge deal. Like, it’s permanent.” Louis nods. He knows this, of course, has given it countless hours of thought. Zayn continues with a puff of smoke, “I just would’ve guessed that you’d be more stressed out about it, or something.”

“Well, I have Harry. We’re going to make it work together, or at least try to. I think we’ll be okay. I love him, and I can only pray he feels the same way. We have a few months, he’s only about eleven weeks along. And I’m going to uni, hopefully. He just turned seventeen, actually.” Louis feels like he sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself just as much (if not moreso) as he is Zayn. Harry doesn’t seem to have a worry in the world about the entire situation, and the last thing Louis wants to do is bring him down or cause him to lose sleep over something that, at this point, is out of his control.

“You have to let me help pick names,” Zayn says cooly, still largely emotionless, and Louis takes a good, long moment to just look at him. He’s changed physically, of course, but he’s starting to realize the difference between Apple Tree Zayn and this Zayn. There’s an aura of maturity and finality behind every word Zayn speaks, though he’s not come off as harsh or unkind, and Louis sort of respects that in a way. He misses having Zayn around as a friend. “If that’s alright with you two lovebirds.”

“It’s perfectly fine. I’m sure Harry has already compiled a list. He’s practically got the entire nursery planned out already.” Louis smiles a bit to himself.

“So he’s excited, then?”

“Seems that way.”

“That’s good,” Zayn says, “At least he’s not regretting it. It’s probably a lot easier on both of you, especially if he’s a kid person.”

“He is, but I still do worry. He’s young and still in school and… things are fine now, but I can’t help but feel like they’re going to spiral out of control once the baby is born. I might be gone not too long after that. For school.” He shakes his head. “We’ll see,” he tacks on softly. Nothing is final, after all; he has yet to hear back from anyone, and his decision isn’t complete even if he does.

“Well, I guess you should make the most of the easy parts while you can.”

Louis purses his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”


	19. eleven weeks - feb. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please read the notes in this chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT TRIGGER WARNING: 
> 
> there is (somewhat) major character death in this chapter. i don't want to spoil it, but if you feel uncomfortable or unsure about the exact contents of this chapter and want to know what specifically happens, scroll down and read the notes at the end. this way i won't spoil the chapter for everyone but you can still see what happens beforehand if needbe.

Louis finds himself in class without Harry on a particularly cold Wednesday, which is unusual, because Harry had shown up with the actual flu once (just so he could see  _Louis_ , the sap) but he brushes it off, because Harry is pregnant. Pregnant people deserve time off. It's the same class that he met Harry in, actually, so he sets his stuff on the side of the table where Harry usually sits. The class is a lot more boring without Harry. Pamela still has not dealt with her issue. The teacher still writes on a chalkboard. It's exhausting to just exist in this class, honestly.

He's halfway dozed off, doodling stick men on skateboards in his journal instead of taking notes, when the annoyingly old fashioned phone in the corner of the room starts to buzz. The teacher stops, jaw still hanging mid-word, and huffs. He slides his small glasses back up his nose and, ignoring the unanimous sigh of relief the class lets out, stops lecturing long enough to walk over and grab it.

Louis draws a stickman doing a backflip over a tree, which is probably impossible, but he likes to think that, with enough training, he could someday reach tree backflip potential. With Harry's help, of course. He'd discovered that Harry is incredibly and unfairly flexible, and can actually bend way too much for a seventeen year old. Louis wonders briefly if Harry could bend over backwards and suck his-

"Louis? Is Louis here?" the teacher asks, nasally voice interrupting his thoughts, "Louis Tomlinson?" A few pairs of eyes flit over to him but dart back away, because Louis is infamous for being so quiet that he's practically nonexistent. A newfound acquaintance, Ava, smiles at him from across the room. Ava lives not too far from Louis and he'd met her as she walked by with her younger brother one evening - who, much to Lottie's delight, was eleven and had pretty brown eyes - before realizing they attend the same school. She's nice enough, Louis thinks, so he smiles back. 

"I'm here," he says, clearing his throat.

The professor cocks his head toward the door. "You're wanted in the main office." He pauses. "You're not in trouble."

Confused, Louis sits up straight. "Are you sure? Do I have to go right this moment?"

"Did I stutter?"

Louis bites his tongue to keep his retaliation to himself. The last thing he needs to do is get a detention for back-talking a teacher. He gathers his things up quietly and quickly, keeping his eyes trained on his hands, and tries to pretend everyone isn't staring at him. He knows he's interrupting class and they're probably grateful for it, but he also knows that he's never been pulled out of class for something other than the time his mother came and got him to visit his sickly grandmum, who was in the hospital - oh God, the hospital.

He rushes out, unzipped backpack slung over only one shoulder, and fiddles with his jumper as he makes his way toward the main office. The hallways are completely empty since it's the middle of a class period, of course, but he still gets the feeling that he's being watched. He almost flinches when he sees his own reflection in the trophy cases lining one of the walls. 

His shoes squeak on the floor as he stops, tugging the glass door to the office open, and pokes his head inside. "Hello?"

The secretary looks up at him from behind her spectacles. He's only seen her a few times, but she's just as old and grumpy as the rest of the staff at Louis's school. Her graying hair is tucked up in a small bun, blouse tucked into her skirt, and she sips from her coffee before she responds with a gravelly, "How may I help you?"

"Louis Tomlinson," he blurts, which isn't really that solid of an answer, but she just raises her thin eyebrows and sets her mug down. Before he gets a chance to ask much more, she takes a small thumb and gestures toward the line of chairs along the wall. 

They're all empty except for one. Anne. 

Fear immediately seeps deep into Louis's veins, settling into his stomach. "Anne? What are you doing here? Is Harry okay? Are-"

"He's fine. I just- well, I think I should let Harry tell you himself. It's okay, love, don't look so nervous. It's okay," she soothes, standing and resting her hand on Louis's shoulder. With a tight smile, she tilts her head toward the door. "Shall we head out? He's waiting." 

"In the car?" Louis hasn't seen Harry since the day before. He doesn't think he can be blamed for missing him. He's pregnant and very much Louis's soulmate, actually. 

"No, love. At home. He wouldn't stop- well, he just wanted you. You've been excused, don't worry, I've explained everything to Mrs. Arrington." Louis assumes that's the name of the secretary, who offers him a very fake smile and a tilt of her mug. 

He doesn't really have an option but to follow her, so he does.

The car ride is awkward, mostly because Louis is squirming around and fiddling with the radio stations, too anxious to sit still, and breathing like he's just ran six consecutive marathons. Anne keeps smiling at him nervously from the side, like she's afraid to mention it lest she work Louis up even more, but she does begin to hum to one of the songs Louis stumbles upon. He leaves it alone after that, staring out the window and watching the trees and buildings pass by in colorful blurs until they turn onto Harry's street. His heart is in his stomach, beating a thousand miles a minute, because he's not stupid. He knows Anne wouldn't just pull him from class to invite him to an impromptu party at Harry's house, or something. There's something going on. And Harry needs him, so he's going to forget his own feelings and put Harry first. It's what he has to do.

When they pull into the driveway, Louis climbs out before she's even stopped the car. He almost falls in his haste, but steadies himself and adjusts his bag on his shoulder before scrambling in through the door. He throws his bag onto the island in the kitchen and begins the familiar trek up to Harry's room without a second thought, tucking the nail of his thumb between his teeth. He hears Anne calling for him faintly, but he reaches Harry's door first and opens the door without knocking - which is exactly how they ended up with Harry pregnant, he muses. 

The sight he beholds is far from that day.

Harry, who is usually so full of light, is nowhere to be seen at first. Louis begins to think he's being tricked until something moves and he finally sees it: a small, shifting lump on Harry's bed underneath all of the covers. 

"Hazza," he breathes, slipping his shoes off by the door and padding over. Harry doesn't respond, but when Louis rests a hand on what he assumes to be his back, he lets out a soft whimper. "What's wrong, love?"

It takes a minute or two to get an answer. He sits down on the edge of Harry's bed, hand never leaving its place, and waits patiently. Harry's body is moving quickly and gently, so Louis assumes that he's probably  crying or close to it. His heart threatens to break when Harry sniffles. 

"I'm sorry," he says, squirming up. His head pokes out from under the duvet, which would be adorable under any other circumstances, but his face is red and tear-streaked, little tip of his nose bright pink and eyes swimming with tears. Louis isn't really in control of his actions anymore, reacting purely on what's come to be instinct, and he slides forward to rest a hand on Harry's cheek. Harry looks at him like he's the most precious thing in the world, so he's certain Harry isn't about to break up with him. A quick glance to his abdomen confirms that there is still a bump there. 

"Why are you apologizing?"

Harry whimpers again. "I- I had one job and I m-messed it up-"

"Harry," Louis mutters, urgent and scared, "What happened?"

Harry bites his lip so hard that Louis is surprised he doesn't bleed. He takes a deep, shuddery breath. 

"Are the babies okay?" he prompts, stroking his thumb across the surface of Harry's skin and wiping a hot tear from it gently. 

Harry shakes his head. "Baby."

"What? No, Harry, the twins-"

"I meant what I said." 

Louis blinks, taken aback. "What are you saying? You still have a bump-"

"I had an appointment a few days ago with my regular doctor. Not Cathy. And I went in just to get a checkup, but I." Harry pauses, and Louis doesn't even bother to stop him. It's probably harder for Harry to say than it is for Louis to hear. "But I mentioned, um, cramping. Right here." he places his hand on his stomach lightly, gaze falling to his lap. "And, apparently that's not good. So. She took some blood to do tests, or something, and I didn't mention it 'cause I didn't think it was anything serious, y'know, pregnancies are weird. But today- today the results came back, I guess, and. So, my hormone levels dropped. A lot."

"What does that mean?"

"So she recommended seeing Cathy immediately," Harry continues, ignoring Louis, "I got in this morning, a few hours ago, that's why I wasn't at school. And, Jesus, I just- I can't- I can't say it- it's too hard," he strains, burying his face in his hands again. 

"Harry," he tries, but to no avail. "Harry. Hey, Hazza. It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. I'm right here, remember?" Harry cries softly; Louis can hear his sniffling even though it's muffled by the skin of his hands. "I love you, y'know. We're in this together, aren't we?"

Harry doesn't say anything, but after a few seconds, one of his hands drops. Louis looks at him curiously until he sticks his pinky out, slow and hesitant. Louis fights back a smile. He links his own through Harry's gently, squeezing lightly before he lets go. 

It seems to be all the motivation Harry needs to drop his hands. Before he speaks, however, he pulls himself up and scoots over, dropping himself on Louis's lap. Louis, startled, fumbles to wrap his arms around Harry so that he doesn't fall. Harry buries his wet face into Louis's shirt. 

"V-T-S," Harry says, "Vanishing Twin Syndrome."

The small start of a smile that's been twitching across Louis's face falls off immediately. He's pretty sure every ounce of blood in his body disappears as well. "Harry."

"I'm sorry, Louis," he cries, "I really am. I- I'm not even, I tried so hard. I tried so hard to make this work."

"They're gone?" Louis asks. He's not sure he can fully process this.

"No," Harry responds quickly, sharply. "No. Well. One of them is. The other is fine. It's just- it's like a miscarriage, but with only one of them. Cathy said that it happened during the first trimester, like, back when I was feeling all that... stuff, and whatever, and that, um, the tissue was reabsorbed into my b-body or something, and. I'm so sorry," he chokes off, clinging to Louis for dear life.

"Baby," Louis mutters, because he's not really sure what to say. He knows it's not Harry's fault, but the amount of shock he feels is almost too overwhelming to think of a good response. Harry's crying into his shirt and he's lost a child he'd only known about for a month, just like that.

Just like that.

"Please don't be mad at me- I'm gonna work so much harder now, I can't lose-"

"Harry, stop. It's not your fault. I'm not mad at you," Louis assures him, hugging him as close as he can with Harry's small bump and the amount of ache in his chest. "There's no way you could have stopped it, baby."

"I fucked it up, Lou. All I have to do is be good enough to c-carry them, and I couldn't do that," Harry protests, balling his fists into the fabric of Louis's shirt. Louis pushes him away gently by the shoulders, just far enough to look him in the eye. Harry struggles against him for a second before he gives in, blinking at Louis with sticky eyelashes and shiny green eyes. 

"Did you honestly think I was going to blame you for something that was completely out of your control? Of course I'm not mad at you. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not upset, because of course I am," he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat; he has to stay strong. For Harry. "But I want nothing more than to make you the happiest person in the entire world, baby. I could never leave you for something like this or for anything, really. I love you. And cut yourself some slack. Growing new humans- a new human inside of you is hard." He brushes a stray curl from Harry's forehead gently, light as a feather. Harry's not crying anymore, but he's still sniffling and blinking his eyes slowly, like he's cried himself out and is ready to fall asleep. "Some things just aren't meant to be."

"I should have-"

"No. Stop that. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? I want you to know that." He rests a hand on Harry's small bump precariously, watching Harry's face the entire time, and leans forward to kiss him on the forehead. "My perfect boy."

Harry rests his head on Louis's shoulder this time, cold tip of his nose pressing into Louis's collarbone gently as he bites his lip and settles in. He's obviously done with the conversation for now, and Louis decides not to push him. 

"Promise you won't ever leave me," Harry says, and it's not a question. It's a demand. He even sticks his pinky out again.

"Promise," Louis responds, and their pinkies link once more. 

Harry falls asleep almost instantaneously, and Louis lets him. The heaviness of his heart is enough to keep him rooted to the spot for the next two hours anyway.

_ **************** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible triggers: one of the twins is miscarried. no graphic descriptions of the event itself. the scene picks up with louis being pulled out of school and finding out what happened, but it is discussed and the main focus of this chapter. please be careful and do not. read. if you are not comfortable. you will be able to understand the rest of the fic without reading this chapter.


	20. eleven weeks - feb 14

Louis, in the entire few months that he's known Harry, has never seen him so upset.

He know that now is a horrible time to tell Harry about Uni, which had been his intention for a while, so he just keeps it to himself. Harry and Louis are both absent the next day, mostly because Harry got no sleep and refuses to let Louis out of his sight, so they spend the morning in Harry's bed with Harry's head against Louis's chest beneath the covers.

Anne comes in a few times and offers them soup and some of the leftover pastries from the previous day, but Harry groans and clings tighter to Louis like a koala everytime she opens the door. Louis himself is upset as well, but not nearly as worried as he is about Harry. He knows that, while strong, Harry is especially hard on himself. He remembers a time when Harry failed a test and cried for hours, but losing a child is different than failing a test. Louis knows Harry isn't directly responsible but, he supposes, if the odds were reversed he would probably have a similar sort of guilt and anger directed toward himself.

"Hey, Hazza," he coos when Harry's clock informs him that it's noon, "We should really get some food into you."

"Don't wanna eat, feel too sick," Harry whimpers pitifully into the fabric of Louis's shirt, fisting the material gently.

"Harry," Louis says firmly, but keeps his tone light, "You have to eat. This isn't up for debate."

"You're not the boss of me." Louis exhales through his nose. He can't snap at Harry. The only reason Harry is being short with him is because he's upset, he knows, but he can't help but feel a slight twinge of hurt at Harry's coldness. Harry has never been mad at or rude to him before.

"I know, but you're still pregnant," Louis says, and Harry lets go of his shirt almost immediately. He curls in on himself instead, snuffling quietly. "I know you hurt right now, but you can't just skip meals. It's not good for the baby, and it's not good for you."

The snuffles get louder. "I know. I'm really bad at this whole pregnant thing, aren't I?"

"What? No, Harry, you're not bad at it. I really wish you would stop saying it's your fault, baby."

"I only say it 'cause it's true."

"You know it isn't. Things happen sometimes, but it's not always a direct reflection of the mother themself. C'mon, love, you know how much time and energy you put into keeping our beans happy. You did everything right. Sometimes it's just not meant to be."

"This isn't a sappy love novel, Louis."

Louis sighs again, "Alright, fine. If you don't want me to try to comfort you, then I won't. But you're going to eat regardless. C'mon, let's go." Harry blinks up at him through sticky, clumped lashes with nothing but sadness in his eyes. Louis feels bad, he really does, but there's no way he's going to let Harry go another few hours without some food or drink in him. He's not a horrible boyfriend, after all, and even if they've lost one they still have to take care of the baby they still have. He hopes that Harry knows that beneath all of his grief.

Harry tells Louis that he doesn't want to get up, so Louis wanders down to the kitchen to fetch something to bring back to Harry. Anne and Gemma are both gone, off fulfilling their own responsibilities, and a phone call to his mother has left Louis free to stay with Harry as long as they deem necessary. He makes Harry a ham sandwich with no mayonnaise, because that makes Harry sick, and grabs him an apple and a packet of crisps as well. He fills a glass with milk and carries the plate and cup up carefully to Harry's bedroom.

Harry hasn't moved for the entire time Louis was gone, so Louis sets the plate and glass down on his bedside table and rests a hand on his back carefully. At his touch, Harry slowly sits up and rubs at his eyes roughly, sniffing and reaching out for Louis as soon as he starts to move away.

"I'm just moving around to the other side of the bed," he assures Harry, and tries to keep himself from squealing at how adorable a sleepy, clingy Harry is simply because of the circumstances. Harry eats his sandwich slowly, even offers Louis a bite, the dear, which he rejects just because Harry needs every ounce of nutrients that he can get. He eats his apple with his head on Louis's shoulder, free hand on Louis's thigh, and the crisps remain untouched for the time being. Louis is okay with that, because he's honestly impressed that Harry even finished his sandwich. They sit in silence for another few minutes.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, breaking the tension, "For being mean. I really do love you, 'm just sad."

"I know, sweetheart." He does know, really. He gets it. He's upset too.

"And I don't really want to talk about it anymore," Harry continues.

"Okay."

"And I really want to shower." Pause. "With you." Harry doesn't mean it sexually. Louis knows this. A sharp wave of excitement still runs up his veins anyway because Harry is getting out of bed, Harry is making progress. Louis must make a damn good ham sandwich because he's actually getting Harry up.

Harry leads Louis to the bathroom that he shares with Gemma without another word, hands clasped together, and starts the water with his back to him. Louis closes the door behind them and locks it, just in case anyone comes home, before stripping his shirt off without thinking. When Harry turns, he stares at Louis for a few moments before he looks away wordlessly.

The water takes a few moments to heat up, and in the meantime Louis rids himself of his trousers and stands there, feeling utterly exposed, in his pants. Harry takes his shirt off but nothing else, toeing at the tile of the floor until the room starts to fill with steam.

Harry makes the first move, as usual, removing his trousers and pants all in one go and turning to step into the shower without any sort of hesitance. Louis quietly admires his bum as he tugs his own pants down slowly, shuffling in behind Harry and pulling the curtain closed behind them.

Harry's shower is of course large and roomy, but they still stand close enough for Louis to see the green of Harry's irises and the droplets of water sticking to his dark eyelashes. Harry smiles softly at him for the first time all day, handing him the shampoo and turning so that his head of curls is the only thing Louis can see.

He supposes that is an invitation for him to wash Harry's hair. He squeezes shampoo into his hand quickly before he cards through Harry's curls gently, receiving a happy hum in response, and smooths down his hair. He gathers it all up into one big pointy mohawk, which earns him a faux scowl and a pout, and kisses bubbles from Harry's forehead once he turns around. Harry gathers bubbles from his hair and rubs his hands on Louis's cheeks like a child.

"Bubble beard," he says, and for some reason it's the funniest thing Louis has heard in his entire life. They both giggle together, Harry with his pointy hair and Louis with his beard of bubbles, until Harry's laughter dies down and he ends up just staring at Louis with a smile that finally meets his eyes.

Harry's hands come up from his sides to rest on Louis's cheeks, wet thumbs brushing away the bubbles softly, but his eyes never break contact with Louis. Once Louis feels like his skin is free of shampoo, he leans forward and closes the distance between them to kiss Harry on the lips, pointy hair and all. He melts into it almost instantly, Harry's hands on his face and his own arms drifting to wrap around Harry's waist. Their lips always fit together so nicely, Harry's own full ones against his thinner, somehow always chapped ones, so much so that it's almost impossible for Louis to not nip at the flesh of Harry's lower lip. They try to keep it chaste, sweet; no tongue, no heavy breaths or pushing each other against walls, but it's still equally as intimate because they're stood under the scalding hot stream together and everything feels a little bit easier.

Harry breaks from it first, unfortunately, pulling away and resting his forehead against Louis's with his eyes clenched shut. Louis watches him with hesitation, hands never leaving their place on Harry's hips, but his hair is sticking annoyingly to every angle of his face and the shampoo from Harry's hair is running down, getting in their eyes.

So eventually they have to separate, Harry rinsing his hair while Louis watches the muscles in his back ripple, and Harry doesn't ask Louis to do anything else. They stand together still, but Louis gets the feeling that Harry just appreciates the silent sentiment right now. He isn't much of a talker when he's upset, but it's still the most he's moved around all day.

When they get out and dry off, Harry tucks himself in Louis's arms and Louis wraps the towel around both of them, chin resting atop Harry's head as it's tucked into his neck. Harry starts to shiver a little from the difference in temperature, so Louis kisses his forehead and suggests they return to Harry's room so that they can get dressed and watch a film, maybe, or play a game. Harry agrees to watching The Little Mermaid, for some reason, because he insists that singing fish make everyone feel better. Louis even pops them some popcorn to share, which Harry actually participates in, but ends up falling asleep against Louis's chest about halfway through the movie. Louis doesn't wake him, of course, just switches off the telly and takes a nap of his own with his boy in his arms and his sweet smelling curls tickling his neck.

Despite the things that have happened, everything feels a little bit less scary. He can tell Harry about Uni tomorrow, he thinks, but for now he just lays and breathes.


	21. thirteen weeks - feb 27

Harry is back to school, but he's not back to himself.

They're at lunch, one of the few times they're able to sit and be near each other, and Louis is picking at a piece of solid roast beef while Harry eats his apple, staring blankly at the wall behind Louis. They usually sit right next to each other, Harry practically in Louis's lap with his hands all over him, but it hasn't been that way since the incident. 

Louis, who has been feeling rather neglected and shut out, pointedly clears his throat. "Harry."

Harry's eyes flit over to him for a half a second before they dart away. Louis waits impatiently as Harry swallows his bite of apple and sets it down on his paper bag, looking to his lap guiltily. 

"Yeah?" he asks softly, refusing to make eye contact. Louis's heart breaks at the same time frustration surges through him, white hot and overwhelming. He can't help Harry if he won't even talk to him, after all. He's never seen Harry upset, not like this, and he's learning much too quickly that Harry's method of coping with pain is closing everything and everyone else out. 

"What's wrong?" Louis asks, though he knows the answer; he wants to hear Harry say it. He wants him to talk to him about it. 

Harry finally does look up at him- through his lashes, admittedly, but at least it's something. "Nothing."

Louis can't stop the sigh that huffs through his nose; it's a natural reaction, but Harry still frowns at him. "I know something is wrong," he presses, setting his fork down and leaning closer to put his hand on the table in front of Harry. "C'mon, H. Talk to me." 

"I am talking to you. What does it look like I'm doing right now?" Harry snaps in the most anti-Harry Louis has ever heard, "I just want to eat my apple."

Louis, who is growing increasingly irritated, lets out a retaliation of his own, "You've been acting like we're stranger for the past two weeks. What's the problem? Is it me?"

"No." Harry glares at his apple. "Not everything is about you."

"Christ, Harry, I didn't say it was. I'm tired of you acting like I don't exist. I'm a person too!" Louis says hotly, but he reminds himself to lower his tone when a passing student looks over at him precariously. Harry's scowl has soured at his words. He runs a hand down his face slowly, sighing into his palm. "Look, I'm sorry."

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, turns his face and looks away. Sadness burrows itself deep in the pit of Louis's stomach. He's been Harry's rock since they first became friends, but now he feels blatantly unhelpful. When Harry stands to throw away his things, Louis gets a peek at the skin of his stomach as his shirt rides up and is reminded of the undeniable fact that Harry is definitely pregnant and it's definitely Louis's. 

He can't help but wonder if Harry is regretting this entire thing to begin with.

When Harry returns, he's got an unopened bottle of water in his hands and a small smile on his face. He sits and offers it to Louis silently, slowly; the way he extends his arm sheepishly is so adorable that Louis can't help the twitch of the corner of his lips. He takes the water gently, but grabs on to Harry's hand before he gets the chance to pull it from his grasp. Harry's hand is still larger than his, fingers long and slender, but now his nails are painted a pretty, deep red color that contrasts against the paleness of his skin beautifully. Louis kisses his pinky without thinking about it. 

"Lou," Harry drawls, cheeks flushed with color. "What're you doing?"

"I'm sorry for shouting, know you don't like that." Louis holds Harry's hand between both of his, blowing softly on the cool skin of his fingertips. He really does love Harry with his whole entire heart, especially now that he's carrying a child, and Louis tries to portray it with just how he looks at him. Harry stares back unflinchingly for a moment before he shakes his head, tucking his lower lip beneath his teeth in the way that Louis knows means he feels embarrassed. He's learned to read Harry like a book at this point. 

"It's fine," Harry sighs, "I'm sorry. For not talking."

"You have the right to be a little shaken. I'm just worried about you."

"I know. You don't have to be, though. I'm fine," he stresses, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Louis's. His eyelids clamp shut over his eyes for a few moments. Louis watches him until he opens them again, pupils expanding as he blinks slowly and focuses his gaze on Louis's. "You're watching me."

"Yeah," Louis hums.

"Creepy," says Harry, giggling lightly; he sits back after that, pulling his hand from Louis's grasp gently and resting his hand on his knuckles. Harry is wearing one of Louis's jumpers today over his own shirt. The jumper is a little too small on him, especially on the arms - Harry has the limbs of a giraffe and is growing like one too - but it still looks fifty times better on him somehow. It's a cream knit one that Louis's grandmother had knitted for him, actually. He stares at Harry in it like it's his entire world.

"Stop that," Harry laughs, snapping him from his thoughts; he pokes his tongue out in retaliation, which gets him a light kick underneath the table. Louis smiles to himself; he's missed their banter more than he cares to admit.

"Sorry," he says without actually being sorry in the slightest. 

Harry rolls his eyes. "It's a thing for you, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Me wearing your clothes. Is that a kink?"

"What? Harry, no."

"Fabricophilia."

"Stop."

"Fabric fetish," Harry continues, pursing his lips. "Don't be ashamed."

Louis buries his head in his hands with a grunt of discountenance to signal his disapproval of the entire situation. Harry laughs quietly, mostly at his own jokes, and Louis doesn't look back up until he feels a foot nudging at his ankle again. He pops his head up instantly, fringe falling into his face as he turns to look at Harry. He's gone for him, honestly.

Harry's biting his lip again, but embarrassment is no longer in his eyes. "I really am sorry, you know."

Louis nods, "I know."

"I don't mean to shut you out, but it still does hurt," he admits, eyes falling to his lap once more; if there's one thing Louis truly hates, it's seeing Harry upset. He'd rather take a bullet to any body part he has then intentionally hurt the vulnerable, beautiful boy in front of him. He'd rather live on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back then ever make Harry cry. 

"I know, baby," Louis coos, softening embarrassingly quickly. "It hurts me too." More sadness flashes in Harry's expression. Louis wants to clock himself over the head. "But that doesn't mean it's your fault," he adds quickly, "I didn't mean for it to come out that way. It's not your fault, but don't forget our deal."

Harry peeks up at him questioningly. "Our deal?"

"You and me. In this together. Always. Ring any bells?" Louis sticks his pinky out, smiling as reassuringly as he can. 

If he's being honest, he's terrified. He's been terrified since the very first day, but there's no way he can share that with Harry. Especially not now. He's terrified of how they're going to make it work. He's terrified of something happening between the two of them in the next few months. They're young, after all, and this is only their first serious relationship. It's not unrealistic to fear the worst. He's terrified that, should it come to that, Harry will leave him with nothing but half a heart and the knowledge that he helped bring a child into the world at such a young age as well as a hefty bill to pay and a lifetime of guilt. He's terrified that something will happen to their child - something already has, he reminds himself - that will shake Harry to the core and take their relationship with it. He's terrified that it'll all become too much once the baby is born, terrified that it won't work out for them and that they'll have to spend the rest of their lives fighting over an adolescent mistake. He's terrified that everything can and will go wrong, and he's terrified that he won't be able to stop it. There's no way to explain these fears to anyone other than himself because he feels as if they're irrational, especially since he and Harry are doing so well and Harry has never given him a reason not to trust that it will all be okay, but he's still eighteen.

He thinks that nothing permanent ever happens to anyone at age eighteen. At least nothing positive.

And it's not that he doesn't want the child either- God, does he want it. He wants to come home to a house in the suburbs with Harry having just got home himself, busy in the kitchen trying to gather ingredients for dinner with their children watching cartoons in front of the telly. He wants to spend every morning waking up in a large, soft bed in a quiet room with Harry in his arms. He wants to spend summer nights outside in front of a fire pit that Harry bought just for them, toasting marshmallows over an open flame with Harry's arm brushing against his and his children kneeling next to him - watching from a safe distance, of course. He wants to spend holidays with small ones on his shoulders and his fingers wriggling into their sides, listening to them laugh and squeal- but most of all, he wants to see the smile on Harry's face throughout all of it. He wants to know that they made this life together and that it's theirs, will always be theirs.

So when he sticks out his pinky, he means it. He only hopes Harry fees the same way.

Harry smiles back at him shyly, like he's never seen Louis do it before, and links their digits together gently. He squeezes for a moment before he draws back, looking to Louis with a newfound sense of confidence.

"In it together," Harry echoes, "I know. I'm sorry, Lou. I love you a lot, did you know?"

Louis cracks a grin. "Maybe just a little. I love you, even when you're choosing an apple over me. Hurtful, that was."

"What can I say? I've always been a fruit kind of a guy. Especially green apples. Sour, but not too sour, y'know? And I like when they're really crunchy. And with peanut butter, but not crunchy peanut butter because then it's too much crunch. Smooth peanut butter," Harry rambles, talking mostly to himself; Louis listens to his every word like it's a command that he's to follow for the rest of his life, partly because he's in love and partly because it's the most he's heard from Harry in two weeks. 

"All very good points, Hazza, you're right."

"-And I really, really dislike when people put caramel on apples because I think it ruins them. They're meant to be healthy. It's like when you douse your salad in ranch dressing, which is actually really good but so contradicts the entire point of even eating a salad, much less trying to reduce the calories." 

And Louis really doesn't mind spending the rest of his lunch period listening to Harry go on and on, is the thing. He even gets to kiss him on the nose afterwards, so at least things are back to normal.

For now.


	22. fifteen weeks - mar 13

Louis wakes to the sound of tapping.

He's in his own bed, face smushed into the plush of a pillow he'd taken from Harry's room, with his arms flailed out around him carelessly. His left arm feels like a dead weight, tingly and heavy, so he uses his other to lift it and try to wriggle life back into his fingers. Once he's sitting up he examines his room to search for the source of the disruption - it is two in the morning, after all - to little avail. With a grunt and a swipe of his hand through his fringe, he stands and lumbers out of his room to check on his sisters.

Lottie and Fizzy's bedroom light is off and they're both tucked snuggly into their beds, little stuffed animals and dolls strewn across the light carpet of their bedroom floor, and the same situation applies for Daisy and Phoebe. His mother isn't home at the moment, which he had been expecting because she always works late shifts on Tuesdays, so he's fairly certain he's just hearing things and really ought to go back to sleep.

He makes it to his bed once again when he hears it again. The sound is more persistent and evident now, pulling at him like a rope, and it lasts for a few seconds. He squints into the darkness of his room. "What?"

 _Tap, tap, tap-_ he's definitely awake now. He turns on his bedroom lamp, pulls back all of the covers on his bed, rummages around in his drawers, and even dares to open his closet door in case something is falling out and rapping at it, or something like that. Nothing.

Growing frustrated, he closes the door and leans back on the wall next to his window. Because he's only decked out in his most impressive Superman boxers, shivers break out down the bare skin of his chest and legs the second his back touches the coolness of the panelled wall. He curls his toes into the carpet in a desperate search for any sort of warmth. Despite his physical discomfort, he wracks his brain for any sort of idea as to what could be causing the noise. A burglar, or perhaps a serial killer? A stray animal? The air conditioning, maybe, or a tree limb knocking against the window?

A tree limb seems to be the most likely option, so he doesn't waste any time turning and pulling at it. The house is old and the windows are both sticky and heavy, so it takes him a bit longer than he'd care to admit to shove it open, but a cool breeze tickles his skin when he finally does get the opening wide enough to poke his head through. The sky is as dark as Louis's ever seen it, and his vision hasn't yet adjusted to the lack of light, so he squints out to try to identify any trees that may be close enough to be the perpetrator. Weird, because he certainly doesn't remember any tall trees being that close to his bedroom window-

 _Thunk._ Something clinks right into his glasses, startling him enough to send him lurching backward and slamming the back of his head into the window. He stumble for a moment, arms flailing to help him balance - so he doesn't fall out of the window, or anything - as he grunts, "Fuck. What the fuck?"

"Louis?" he hears, and something pings off of the window above him a few moments later. "Hey, Lou."

He'd recognize that voice even in the dead of a coma, he swears. "Harry, what the  _bloody hell?"_ He straightens to the best of his ability, struggling with the weight of the sinking window, as his bare toes push at the wall in an attempt to give him some sort of leverage. "What are you doing here?"

Harry pauses. As Louis looks longer, he wonders more and more why he hadn't noticed him to begin with. Harry is standing on his front lawn, little hat pulled over his hair and ears, with his denim jacket over his pajamas. "Being your Romeo," Harry says simply, and another ping resonates from the window as to back up his answer, "Throwing pebbles."

Louis rolls his eyes so exasperatedly that he's surprised they don't actually pop from their sockets and roll away. "You," he begins, heaving the window up the rest of the way, "Harry Styles, are the biggest idiot I have ever had the pleasure of knowing."

" _Hey."_ He hears Harry's pout more than he sees it. "I thought it was better than picking your front lock and waking you up myself."

Louis hums, "I suppose so, yes, unless giving me a proper heart attack was part of your plan - wait, why are you here? It's like, arse o'clock in the morning, Haz. You should be sleeping. I should be sleeping."

Harry steps closer, tilting his head all the way back so he can look straight up at Louis. Louis imagines that his nose is pink tipped and scrunched, lips bitten red and lashes long and wet from the flurries dusting the ground around them - beautiful, he is. He loves Harry.

"It's the baby," Harry shouts, waving his arms, "The Littlest Tomlinson has been a busy one tonight!"

"Can we please stop calling the baby 'Littlest Tomlinson'? It's a bit weird, actually."

"You're a _bit weird, actually_ , Lewis." He shivers. "Come open the door up for me, I'll tell you more once you let me inside. It's freezing out here."

Louis sighs exaggeratedly, like it's a huge burden for him; they both know he's full of shit. He'd break his spine bending over backwards for Harry. "Alright, I guess. But I won't be happy about it."

He hears a little giggle just before he closes his window. A smile creeps across his face before he can stop it. Once the window is closed, he slides his feet into a pair of slippers and adjusts his glasses before he makes his way down the stairs and to the front door. As soon as he opens it he has a mouthful of curls and an armful of cold, shiver-y boy, which is always nice, but he mostly has a heart full of Harry. Louis smiles into his ear, tips of Harry's ringlets tickling the skin of his forehead, and sighs happily into the embrace. Harry detaches himself after a few moments, closes the door, and beams brightly down at Louis. Louis hates that Harry is beginning to grow taller than him. He's almost tempted to stand on his tip toes just to diminish the growing height difference, but he knows Harry would notice and tease him for it.

He also reminds himself that it's very early and there's school the next morning and Harry had woken him up by throwing pebbles from his driveway, probably, and is currently smiling at him like he's just discovered the meaning of life.

"Wait, remind me why you're here?"

Harry reaches forward and cups Louis's cheeks in his large, cold hands. "Missed my little love."

"I am not little," Louis huffs, "I'm average. You're gargantuous. Learn the difference."

Harry purses his lips. "Is that a word?"

"Yes, I think." He pauses. "Well, I don't know. Shut up."

Harry rolls his eyes and releases Louis's face, small little smile playing at the corners of his mouth all the while. Louis tries not to look back at him with as much admiration as he feels because he's stronger than that, thank you very much, and his heavy eyelids and slow, lethargic movements are enough to keep him focused on the matter at hand. Sort of.

"I'm here because someone," Harry begins, grabbing Louis's hand and resting it over his lower abdomen, "Is up to something."

Louis cocks a brow. "Huh?"

"I felt fluttery."

This doesn't help. "That doesn't help?"

"Like, I felt fluttery. Like when you have butterflies in your stomach, but it felt like real butterflies. So I looked in my book-" Louis interjects with his own snide "but of course you did," earning himself a glare and a threat directed toward his dick, before Harry continues, "And the book says that fetal movement can begin at week thirteen. I'm nearly to my sixteenth week, Lou."

"Okay," says Louis, blinking as his tired mind tries to process this information. He cocks his head, glasses sliding a bit down his nose, until it begins to sink it. "Oh. Fetal movement?"

"Yeah," Harry nearly squeals, pressing Louis's hand down more firmly and persistently. "Like, I think the baby is squirming around in there. No kicking yet, but I can still feel it if I try really really hard. I was actually just sitting around in my room and trying to fall asleep and I felt this weird sensation and," he pauses, breathing heavily. Louis is almost concerned that he's forgetting to inhale as he speaks. "Oh, Lou, I wish you could feel it. It's the craziest thing. There's like, woah. I'm pregnant."

Louis bites back his laughter. "Really? I hadn't the slightest-"

"No sarcasm!" he bites, "It's a time for celebration. Do you have any champagne?" Louis opens his mouth, but Harry beats him to it with a "no, never mind, I'm pregnant. And underage. Um. Do you have sparkling grape juice?"

"Sparkling grape juice," Louis repeats quietly, disbelievingly, "Do you know me at all? Of course I don't have-"

"Good thing I brought some in my car-" before Harry can whirl around and dart back out the door, Louis grabs him by his wrist and pulls him back into his chest. Harry stumbles but doesn't fall, instead struggling against Louis's hold the second his back makes contact with the other boy. "Lou _is."_

"Harold. It's two in the morning. I love you, but we can not sit in my kitchen and drink sparkling beverages."

"But why not?" he whines, jutting his lower lip out in that way that Louis hates because it always, always, always makes him break -  _goddammit, stay strong,_ he reminds himself,  _he'll thank me for it in the morning._ But knowing Harry tells him otherwise. He's forced to look away from the pout lest his heart start doing the decision making for him.

"Because, Hazza. We have school."

"So what?"

" _So,_ if you're tired at school you're going to be cranky. And there are other people in the house right now. I don't want to wake the girls. And if your mother wakes up and you're not there we will be forced to deal with that - and she'd probably call my mum, and then both mums would scold us together and we'd have to succumb to their mum-ish wrath, Harry-"

"Okay, okay. No sparkling grape juice." Harry goes lax, resting his head on Louis's shoulder and letting his arms snake around his waist. They stand like that for a moment or two, enjoying the silence, and Louis even lets his eyes close. It's nice and quiet until Harry's stomach growls and a small fit of giggles slip from his lips, which he definitely had been biting - Louis needs to get on him about that - which effectively ruins the mood. Louis groans. Harry laughs louder.

It's not really that out of the ordinary for them, actually.

"'d offer to make you a snack but we don't have much aside from papayas and stale bread," Louis yawns, tucking his chin atop Harry's head. They're swaying slightly now, rocking to an invisible beat, which does nothing good for Louis's slipping consciousness. He's trying very hard not to fall asleep standing up.

"Papayas?" Harry asks, "Why papayas?"

"Mum wanted to try out a new recipe," he slurs.

"Did it taste good?"

Louis pulls away to kiss at Harry's face. He aims for his cheek and ends up kissing his ear and a bit of his hair, but Harry doesn't seem to mind. He preens under the attention as always, turning in Louis's arms to bump their noses together lightly. Harry's forehead accidentally knocks Louis's glasses up until they're pressed uncomfortably to the top of his nose and he's able to feel his eyelashes sweeping against the glass with every blink, but he doesn't complain. He'd do anything for Harry.

"No," he admits. "It tasted like a really bad smoothie atop some charred meat."

Harry laughs. He laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard in weeks, in months - Louis doesn't know if it's because they're tired or really, really in love or maybe a bit of both, but he laughs with Harry. They're standing in his foyer laughing quietly to each other like a proper couple of saps, Louis thinks, but  _Jesus_  does it feel nice. There are days like this where Harry is energetic and bubbly and Louis gets to love him extra hard, gets to kiss his face and hold his hand and look at him with the world behind him and his heart on his sleeve, and then there are days where Harry is normal.

The new normal for Harry includes hormones, as to be expected, and a lot of whining. Louis's never minded Harry's pickiness, but he'd discovered very quickly that a pregnant Harry is not one to compromise with. Giving Harry exactly what he wants  _now, Louis,_ turns out to be both tiring and challenging. Harry either has the sex drive of a raging teenager pumped full of estrogen or one of a bloated senior citizen. It's very hard to keep up with his emotions as well, which frustratingly range from giddy to ghoulish and can fluctuate faster than Louis can even say Harry's name. Harry's extra sensitive as well, crying at a particularly challenging homework assignment and at the neighbor's new puppy or just because he  _doesn't feel good,_ but Louis never complains. He never lets a single negative response slip from his mouth, never lets himself roll his eyes or scoff or dismiss Harry's discomfort like it's not worth the time of his day because truly, it is. He's half of the reason Harry is pregnant, after all. Even on days where he may not be the most pleasant to be around, Harry still promises that he loves him - on his pinky, no less - and rubs his neck when it cracks and gives him rides to and from school. He loves pregnant Harry more than he loved other Harry, he thinks, just because pregnant Harry has actually shown him more than the blinding perfection that he had seen previously.

Harry's outlashes or bad days do nothing to phase the intensity of the feelings Louis holds for him. He doesn't think anything could, really, not at this point. It's at this moment in his train of thought that he realizes Harry is calling out for him, tickling him beneath his ribcage and laughing against his collarbones. He blinks from his haze. Harry is saying something, but he's too tired to comprehend it. He watches his lips move from behind his heavy eyelids, tries to lift them so he can look at Harry properly, fails, and slumps forward.

He hears Harry mutter something in his ear, but he's too far gone. His jaw goes slack and his head goes to rest on Harry's shoulder, eyelids falling shut. The last thing he's able to observe is the feeling of cushions beneath him and a warm body sliding into his lax grip, the scent of strawberries and home perfuming the air around him as he heaves a final sigh.

_________

When Louis wakes for the second time that day, the sun is out and birds are chirping outside of the large windows in the family room. He sits up groggily, gentle so that he doesn't knock Harry, who has taken it upon himself to be the little spoon, right off the sofa and onto the hardwood floors. He blinks at the light and then down at Harry, trying to remember how he got here and when, until little feet pitter patter into the room.

He turns his head. It's Fizzy, stuffed bear in her arms as usual, and she looks like she's barely been out of bed for five minutes. "Lou," she says, blinking up at him, "'s it time for school?"

School. Shit. "Uhm," he blurts, sitting up fully and running a hand through his hair - he had fallen asleep with his glasses on, evidently - as he tries to find Harry's mobile in the pockets of his trousers. "I dunno, lovie. What time is it?"

She pauses. "Nine in the morning."

"Shi- I mean, um, darn." Louis kicks at Harry's ankles quickly. "Hey, Harry. Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up-"

A low groan resonates through the room. The hand that Louis has on Harry's back feels the vibrations when he speaks. "Jesus, 'm up. Wassit?"

"We're late, you oversized teddy bear. Get up."

"Nooo," Harry drawls, turning so his face is completely smothered in the cushions of the sofa. "'s just, no. I'll go tomorrow. Tell mum hi."

"Harry."

"Mmf."

" _Harry._ Get up, please," he whispers urgently, "if I don't at least get the girls to school my mum will skin me and then hang me on the wall. Cover me in sparkles first, if she's feeling extra spontaneous."

It takes a beat or two for Harry to respond. "Would they be rainbow sparkles?"

"No," he huffs, "Though I appreciate the symbolism, thanks."

"Don't be so dramatic," Harry hums, "It's a lovely morning, we should go and take a walk."

He would shove Harry off of the couch completely if he wasn't pregnant, he swears it. Harry's trousers are riding low on his hips, light lace of the panties - panties that, Louis swears to actual God, are going to be the death of him, and Harry  _knows_  it, the little shit - on blatant display for everyone, including Louis's young and influential sisters, to see, so he takes it upon himself to do something about it.

He presses the cold, unforgiving skin of his toes to the back of Harry's leg, which is exposed from all of his tossing and turning messing with his bottoms. Harry flinches so hard that he nearly lurches off of the sofa, curling in on himself immediately and batting at Louis's feet with his own. "No, no, no."

"C'mon, Hazza. Please."

"Lou-ee," Harry drawls, "I love you, Louis."

He grunts. "I love you. Please get up."

"What will you do if I don't?" Harry very near purrs, turning so that he flops on his back and is able to smirk up at Louis. Louis hadn't noticed his makeup prior to this moment, but the eyeliner he had evidently been wearing the night previous is smeared down the side of his face and under his eyes. He's beginning to resemble a raccoon. Louis is about to tease him for it when Fizzy clears her throat softly, like she's afraid of interrupting them, and his eyes dart back up to her like an instinct.

"Right, Fiz. Go get dressed. Make sure Lots and the twins are ready too. Harry here will drive you all over."

"My car can only seat five at the most," Harry whines. Louis covers his mouth with his hand.

"I'll stay here while you girls go, okay?" Harry is now visibly struggling, furrowing his brow up at him like a pouty child. Louis is so in love that he nearly sees stars.

She scatters, and Louis hears little voices and footsteps from in the kitchen. Harry bites down on his palm suddenly, startling him as he retracts it with a flinch, and reaches his arm up to grab Louis by the back of his head. He pulls Louis down until their lips meet, but Harry apparently underestimates his own strength because their teeth just about clang together and it's painful how hard Louis's lips press against his own for a few moments, but he snakes his other arm up and tangles his fingers into Louis's messy, feathery hair.

Louis's glasses bump against his nose as a reminder of what they should be doing. Louis, of course, is the one to pull away. He pulls back the just slightly so that he's still looming over Harry, but he cocks his brow in the way that Harry loves and purses his thin lips like he's expecting an answer, so Harry decides to give him one.

"You should order me around more often," he says, ninety percent kidding - Louis rolls his eyes and scrunches his nose.

"Sex isn't as appealing of a thought right when you wake up."

"Would you like to test that theory?" He knows Louis simultaneously hates and loves his cheek, especially when in regards to their sex life.

"No." The glint in his eyes says otherwise, but then he's pulling away and sitting up, resting a hand on Harry's stomach gently. "There are children present."

The usual retaliation he'd shoot back dies in his throat. He's so in love that he thinks he'd single handedly construct their entire first home together and make the furniture from scratch just so they could live under the same roof - maybe he's getting a bit ahead of himself.

He is, after all, only seventeen. And Louis is only eighteen. They have time for houses and togetherness. After Louis graduates, he'll be all Harry's all the time always - he's sort of glad Louis isn't going to Uni, to be honest. Louis smiles down at him like he can read his mind. Harry briefly wonders if he actually can.

Despite the fact that he'd woken him at two in the morning and made all six of them late for school, Harry knows Louis's love for him is genuine.

He can see it in his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr [here](harryandlouistbfh.tumblr.com) \- or, my username is harryandlouistbfh ((:


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